


The Story of Hazel Knight; Book Three - Crushes are the Worst

by CaspyCasp



Series: The Story of Hazel Knight [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-23 07:05:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 83,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3758989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaspyCasp/pseuds/CaspyCasp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hazel is back for her third year.<br/>She thought the mysteries were behind her, but the Prisoner of Azkaban is at large.<br/>Apparently he has something to do with her father, as does the new DADA professor.<br/>But these are the least of her worries. Trying to keep her school work under wraps is made even harder by this...</p><p>She has a crush, on none other than Fred Weasley.</p><p>Part Three of 'The Story of Hazel Knight'</p><p>Titles:<br/>I Love Magic - Book One<br/>More Danger and More Mysteries - Book Two<br/>Crushes are the Worst - Book Three<br/>Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes - Book Four<br/>Ours - Book Five<br/>Distance Means Nothing - Book Six<br/>Until the Very End - Book Seven</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you start reading, I would like to iterate that this is not my story. I did not write it, so I own nothing.  
> It is originally written on Quotev by bucky kentucky, and you can find her profile at www.quotev.com/arcticmaryams
> 
> I own nothing. All things Harry Potter related belong to J.K. Rowling, and anything else belongs to bucky kentucky.
> 
> Thank you.

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter One: Prologue**

 

The deathly pale man glides up the stone steps on the breezy August night. He twirls his wand absent-mindedly, smiling triumphantly. This would be so easy. Just by peering into their sitting room window, he can tell that they were completely unprepared. They might not even be arms! Once at the door, the stretches out his long, deathly pale fingers, and rattles the door knob. Locked. But not a problem, not a problem at all. He points his wand at the door, thinking, " _Alohomora_!" and the door swung open quietly. Very good, very good indeed. He could surprise them... not, no, he'll make his presence known before he kills them. He wants to see the light leave their eyes very clearly. He always likes to see the light leave his victim's eyes.

He bursts into the sitting room, smiling triumphantly. The man and the woman, Brandon and Jasmine Knight, look up. Shock flits across their face, then fear, then courage and determination. The little baby girl, however, who can't possibly be over a year old, looks up in mild shock and interest. But she isn't at all afraid. The ignorance and fearlessness of infants was astounding to him sometimes.

They get to their feet, pointing their wands at him. He had always admired courage, but it won't save them no. No, definitely not. There may be two of them, but he was much more powerful. He takes a moment to decide who his first victim will be, then points his wand at Brandon Knight, directly at his heart.

" _Avada Kedavra_!" he casts, and Brandon Knight falls to the floor, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

Jasmine Knight screams his name desperately, but something about the hopeless look in her eyes tells him that she knows that he'll never reply. Instead, she turns and runs to her daughter. She glances up at him, and that's when he directs the final blow.

" _Avada Kedavra_!" he says, and she twists rather gracefully, and falls to the floor, dead before she hits it.

The little girl looks slowly from her mother to her father, as though trying to comprehend with her foolish infant mind what just happened. She doesn't seem to understand that he mother and father are gone forever. Then she stares blankly into his eyes, her head tilted to one side, as though asking for him to give her some answers.

He's torn. Should he kill her or leave her? It'd be so easy to kill her. All he'd have to do is wave his wand, and mutter the simply incantation, and she would live no more. Just like her parents. And it would be safer this way, wouldn't it? That way there's no chance that she can oppose him when she's older.

Finally, she seems to have understood. A few tears drip down her cheeks. Then she starts sobbing quietly. And before he knows it, the baby is wailing at the top of her lungs, tears streaming down her face like a waterfall.

It's the mere fact that the girl is crying - something that all babies do, probably by instinct - that makes him want to kill her. He despises crying with every fibre of his being. All those whiny, annoying children at the orphanage used to do it, and he couldn't stand it when they did. He'd finally be able to do the very thing that he's wanted to do to them to her. Yes, it's better to kill the annoying, useless thing right now, and get it over with. Better to make a clean job of it, an kill the entire family, anyway.

He raises his wand to cast the fatal spell, but as he does, he hears about a dozen cracking sounds.

Apparating. But by who? It must be Aurors, he decides. Who else would be brave and foolish enough to oppose him? He decides to leave. He could, of course, fight all the Aurors off. But that would be endlessly useless. What's the use of fighting about a dozen well trained Aurors, over a silly, little girl? A silly little girl that he could easily finish off if she proved to be a threat later on. and besides, she could become a very faithful, skilled Death Eater when she is of age.  _Yes, I don't really need to kill her now,_ he decides.  _It'd be more convenient, yes, but not necessary._

He turns on the spot and disapparates without further ado.

 

Nearly twelve years into the future, probably miles and miles away, I bolt upright in my bed. I'm completely drenched in a cold sweat. My face is wet with both sweat and what I think are tears. Once again, I've woken up from the very nightmare that usually haunts me while I sleep. The very vivid, and very realistic nightmare of Lord Voldemort killing my parents.


	2. Welcome Back!

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Two: Welcome Back!**

 

Heyo! Recognize me? It's Hazel, here. Hazel Knight.

I've changed a bit in the terms of looks, but it's the same old Hazel, just with the effects of puberty and all that rubbish that I didn't listen to on Muggle school. Hey, it was kind of boring! At least, to me!

Anyway, let me just go over the basics to those who haven't ready my first two years. And even if you have, I don't really know what else to say, so here it goes!

Firstly, I guess I should talk about my family. So, my parents are Jasmine and Brandon Knight. But, I don't think you'll get to know them any time soon. Nor will I get to know them. They're dead, you see. They were killed by Lord Voldemort on August 27th, they'll be celebrating their twelfth death day party. So, now I live with the Martins. AKA, my aunt, uncle, and cousin. Aunt Daisy, Uncle Gabriel, and Candy. God, I hate them. And they hate me.

Aunt Daisy is a woman who hates everything the least bit out of order. She likes girly-girls who're into frilly things, and wear pink, skirts, dresses and fancy stuff all the time. Anything the least bit messy is absolutely unacceptable to her. And that's why she hates me. I'm a messy, go-with-the-flow sort of person. I'm not girly at all. I don't mind getting my hands dirty, I'll never wear anything frilly, and unless you can count my Quidditch uniform, my Hogwarts uniform, and my combat boots as fancy, I don't wear fancy stuff. I'm not really a fancy person, either. And the reason I hate her? She's too uptight, snappish, cruel, and just horrible in general. Not to mention, she's so orderly that it could drive me insane. I like things to be slightly messy.

My uncle Gabriel likes everything to be in order, too, like Aunt Daisy, but he doesn't care about what girls wear. More that everything is what he calls normal. Which is why he hates me. I'm not normal. I'm a witch, you see. That's not normal at all. Not to mention, he's an abusive pig, so every time he's mad at me, it's beating time. Woopie. I hate him for the obvious reason, that he hits me. And again, his desire for normality drives me insane.

Finally, my cousin, Candy. you'd think she'd be sweet and innocent, but she's the total opposite. She's annoying, gossipy, unbearably girly, and just - ugh... she's horrible. She's been trying to ruin my life for ages. It used to work, but then I learned how to stick up for myself. Every since then, I've been making her life hell. But that always gets me beaten by Uncle Gabriel... ah, well.

Now, onto more pleasant matters, my best friends! I love them so much. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Fred Weasley, and George Weasley. They're the bestest.

I've been best friends with Harry since we were five. Because of that, we know each other like the back of our hands. It's next to impossible to lie to each other, and we tell each other everything. Of course, having that sort of relationship with his has caused some people to think that we are or would make a good couple... I know for a fact that Fred and George did. But I'm not sure if they still do. I hope not. Seriously, can't a boy and a girl be best friends without people being all like, "Oh, you should date!"

Honestly, it's gotten more than a little annoying... but, anyway, the point is that Harry is amazing, and we have this sort of unbreakable, brother-sister bond.

Hermione Granger. She's great. She's smart, kind, sweet, caring, generous, and an all around great person. I swear, it nearly killed me seeing her Petrified last year. Thank God, she's been brought back. I don't even know what I'd do if she had died... but anyway, I just love her to death. But she's under the impression that Fred and I should date... but, you know, I try to ignore that...

Ron Weasley. He's amazing. He's funny, kind, caring, a little tactless, yes, but he's still an amazing guy. We can hardly ever stop joking around each other. We're never serious when we're just hanging out. And that's amazing. Especially in Hogwarts, where there's a lot of danger and reasons to be serious. Oh, and I enjoy calling him Ronald to annoy him. Of course, he still loves me, don't fret.

Now, Fred and George. They are those people that will cheer me up in any circumstance. Last year, when I was horribly upset about Hermione, they were the sole reason I laughed that entire week. They're kind when they want, - but if you mess with them, you better watch your back - smart, caring, and just great people. I can tell them anything. In a way, I sort of have to, since I made a deal with them to tell them whenever Uncle Gabriel abused me, but now I don't mind as much! I love them. But do not tell them that! They'll never let me forget it!

Here's just some extra background information, now. I entered this world on May 13th, 1980. I love to prank. My official partners in crime? Fred and George, of course! I also love Quidditch. I'm the Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and I'm the proud owner of a Nimbus 2001. I'm about a month away from starting my third year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I'm in Gryffindor House, in case you couldn't figure it out by me saying I'm on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. 

Speaking of Hogwarts, I'm going to be taking a fair few extra classes this year. I'm going to be needing a time-turner along with Hermione. I wonder how that'll turn out... by the way, a time-turner is a sort of necklace in which you can go back in time with. It's kind of self-explanatory, really...


	3. Some Lovely Letters

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Three: Some Lovely Letters**

 

I stand up and begin pacing my small, slightly cramped room. I don't know why, but this always comforts me whenever I wake up from my nightmares. Maybe it's because it shows that I can move and do things, instead of sit helplessly and watch my parents get killed repeatedly. I take deep, calming breaths, until I finally think that it's okay to sit back down.

I end up sitting on a book. I stand up, and look at the front cover.  _A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot. Beside it, lies a piece of parchment that's been partly filled out. Ah, so I fell asleep doing my History of Magic essay. I wish I h ad stayed awake. I'd rather be bored than terrified. I walk over and wipe all the sweat and tears from my face on a towel. I grab the torch that I usually use to do my homework in secret. I have to do that, because if the Martins saw me doing my magic homework in public, they'd freak out. With the lit torch, I make my way around the room, and find the mirror.

I stare into it blankly, not even registering my reflection until I snap out of my train of thought. I take in my pale face, that's usually slightly tanned, making my dark black hair and dark brown eyes stand out a little more vividly. I still have the air of someone who's been scared out of their wits not too long ago. Which is true, I have been scared not too long ago. My nightgown's sticking to my body due to all my sweat.

I turn away, and sit down next to the textbook. That dream... I can't understand it. It's so vivid, and accurate. It's got to be what actually went down. But there's no way I couldn't remembered it... so how am I dreaming it? It's probably not what happened. It's no big deal. Just forget it, Hazel. I should really finish that essay... but then again, I don't think I'll be able to concentrate... I'll do it tomorrow. I walk over to my window, open it, and close my eyes contentedly, letting the pleasantly cool air dance across my face. Only when I open my eyes, do I  notice that someone's staring at me. Harry Potter. I grin and wave at him, then look at the clock. 1am. It's July 31st. Harry's Birthday! I quickly grab the large notebook, and black marker that I always have on top of my trunk. I scribble down, "Happy Birthday!" and show it him. Harry has one, as well. This is our method of communicating when we can't talk in person.

"Thanks!" the sign he's waving reads.

At that moment, I realize I should give him his present. I rush over, and on the top of my trunk, is a box. Inside, is a cupcake that I made, and a watch that announces the time quietly every hour. I tie it up to Midnight's leg, then point at Harry. If an owl can give you an, 'Are you kidding me?' look, that's exactly what Midnight's giving me - Midnight's my owl, by the way. I named him Midnight because of his dark black feathers - I nod eagerly, and Midnight flies through the window.

He returns literally five seconds later, then taps on his cage for me to open it. I unlock it, and open the door. He flies thorough, puts his head under his wing, and falls asleep. I walk over to the window, and find Harry holding up a page that says, "You know you could've just given it to me in the morning, right?"

I scribble down a quick, "I know, but I wanted to be the first to give you a present!" and show it to him.

He rolls his eyes, smiles, scribbles something down, and shows me the word, "Thanks,"

I scribble down, "No problem!" and show it to him.

He finally seems to notice my slightly pale skin, and shows me the words, "Another nightmare?"

I nod, then scribble down, "The usual one."

"It's fine," the sign he holds up reads, "only a nightmare."

"But it seems so real!" I write down, and show him.

"I know, just don't worry about it," he shows me.

"Right, thanks," I write, and show him, then wave, mouth, "I think I'm going to sleep," and close the window.

He waves, and I turn away from the window. I put my textbook, and my half-finishes essay back in my trunk. I lie back down, but before I can fall asleep, there's a tapping at my window.

"Ugh, what?" I grumble, get up slowly, and walk over to the window.

It's one of the tawny Hogwarts owls. Must have my Hogwarts letter. I open the window to let it through. It flies through my room, and drops the letter on my bed. Without further ado, it flies back through the window. I'm excited to have my letter, but I'm too damn tired to read it right now. I throw it into my trunk, and sink back into bed. Slowly, I drift off to sleep.

The next morning, I change and skip downstairs to breakfast. Of course, I trip and fall on the final step... Classic Hazel, really. I only eat a bit of toast, since I'm not really hungry, and am about to head out into what I expect to be a hot summer day, when the doorbell rings.

"Check who it is before you answer!" Uncle Gabriel hisses at me. "We don't want anyone important knowing about you."

"Of course, dear Gabey," I murmur sarcastically, and look through the peep-hole. "Calm yourself, it's only Harry."

I fling open the door, grinning. Then I take in the weather. It's raining a little. Hm. I didn't see that one coming...

"Come on in, Birthday boy," I say cheerfully, and stand aside to let him in.

He comes inside, and as usual, we go upstairs to my bedroom. Candy pokes out her hideous head from the door of the living room. Before she can make any retort about us being a couple, I give her a look that says, 'Don't even think about it!' and Harry and I jog up the stairs.

"So, what's up?" I ask, flopping down on my bed.

"Ugh, worst birthday ever," he replies, sitting down on the foot of my bed.

"What, you didn't like my present?" I joke.

"No, that was great, thanks," he says. "Marge is coming."

"No!" I gasp, sitting bold upright. "Not Marge! You're joking!"

"Unfortunately, I'm not," he says miserably, shaking his head.

"That is the worst birthday ever," I agree sadly.

Marge Dursley. Vernon Dursley's sister. Come on, the woman is related to Vernon. It's obvious that she's horrible! She loves Dudley, and despises both Harry and I. Ugh. I hate that woman!

"When is she coming?" I ask grimly.

"This evening," he replies sadly, and I groan.

"For how long?" I inquire, dreading to hear the answer.

"A week," Harry answers, and I groan even louder than ever.

"You think it's bad? I'm the one who has to be in the same house as her for a week," Harry exclaims.

"That's true, I shouldn't be complaining," I agree.

"I have a feeling I'm going to be spending a lot of time outside of the house for the next week," Harry informs me.

"I don't blame you," I say grimly.

We talk for a few more hours, until Harry says he has to leave, since he's supposed to be in the house for when Marge comes.

"Good luck," I tell him.

"Thank," he mumbles, "I'll be needing it."

And with that, he walks out of the room. I sit on my bed, pitying Harry for a couple minutes, until I remember my Hogwarts letter. I get up, go to my trunk, and get the letter. I rip it open, and just skim through the usual letter that tells me to go to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on September 1 at 11:00. It also mentions the third years and older are allowed to visit Hogsmeade sometimes. There's a permission form enclosed in the envelope. I go through my list of school books, which is longer than usual, because of all the extra classes I'm taking. I scan through the permission form, slightly grim. There's no way the Martins'll give me permission. I could trick them. They're pretty stupid, it shouldn't be that hard...

I'm just planning ways to trick the Uncle Gabriel, when there's a tapping on my window. I look over, and see the feeble, limp owl, Errol. The Weasley's owl. And it's carrying two letters. Bloody hell! It'll collapse from all that weight. I hurry over to the window, and throw it open. He flies through, and collapses on my bed.

I carefully untie the two letters, then carry Errol gingerly over to Midnight's cage, so he can rest. Poor sap. He looks so bloody tired. I close the cage door, and open the nearest letter. It's from Fred and George.

 

_Dear Hazel,_

_Hey, it's your favourite ginger - **You idiot, George, it's obvious that I'M her favourite ginger!** -All right, Fred, whatever you say!  **Are you doubting this very obvious fact? Even ask her. I am her favourite ginger!** All right, Freddie, we'll live in a fantasy land for a little, and say we're tied for her favourite.  **It wouldn't be living in a fantasy land, because I'm her favourite ginger! Dammit, George, get this through your head!** If we keep going on like this, we'll never finish this letter.  **OK, fine, we'll ask her when we see her, though.** Of course. And then you'll see that I'm her favourite ginger. Anyway, how're you, Hazel? Has that uncle of yours been abusing you lately?  **And remember, you have to tell us, because of the deal! You probably know this, but you know how bad your memory is sometimes, Hazey. Anyway, that uncle of yours better not be abusing you!** Right, otherwise, we might have to destroy him... Anyway, you'll know this if you read Ron's letter first, but we're in Egypt at the moment. Dad won the Daily Prophet draw, you see. We used the money to go here. There're some pretty wicked tombs here!  **Yeah, we tried shoving Percy in one of them, but then Mum saw us. Needless to say, she went ballistic.** If only she had turned around a second later...  **Speaking of Percy, oh, you'll never guess, Hazey, he's been made Head Boy.** Oh, yes, we were all just oh so surprised!  **In case you haven't noticed, we're being sarcastic.** I'm sure she noticed that, Fred.  **Hey, you never know! And don't you roll your eyes at me!** I'll roll my eyes at you all I want! Anyway, Hazel-  **it's Hazey! Not Hazel! Hazey!** Just because that's your nickname for her, doesn't mean we ALL have to call her that...  **Fine, be like that... Anyway, I suppose we should tell you that we're going to be in Diagon Alley to get all of your stuff on the last week before term starts. And we suggest that you should come.** Why?  **Because we'll be there, of course! So, what do you say?** Well, obviously she's going to say yes. She loves us so much, after all!  **Course she does. But she loves me more.** Come on, Freddie, we both know that that's a big fat lie!  **Is not!** Is too!  **Is not! Anyway, Hazey, if the Martins say yes, we'll see you there. If they say no... We'll make sure they change their minds. Don't ask how, but we will. I can assure you that.**  
_

_Sincerely,_

**_Your FAVOURITE ginger twins_ **

**_Fred_ ** _and George_

**_P.S. I know you like me more. George is just in denial!_ **

 

By the time I'm finished reading the letter, I'm in tears from laughing so hard. Oh, those hilarious prats. I love them. So, now that's two impossible things that I have to get the Martins for... All the more scheming to do, I guess. I open up Ron's letter.

 

_Dear Hazel,_

_How are you? I hope the Muggles aren't giving you a hard time..._

_Anyway, Fred and George may or may not have told you, but we're in Egypt at the moment. It's bloody brilliant here! The tombs had the most unbelievable curses on them. Mum wouldn't get Ginny in one of them. I couldn't believe it when Dad won the Daily Prophet draw. 700 galleons! Most of it's gone to this trip, but they're going to get me another wand for next year._

_Anyway, in case Fred and George haven't told you, we're going to meet up at Diagon Alley on the last week before term starts to get all of our stuff. Hermione'll be there too. Any chance of you coming?_

_Hope to see you there,_

_Ron._

_P.S. Percy's been made Head Boy. He got his letter last week. Oh, joy! In case you can't tell, I'm being sarcastic..._

 

I smile. I can't think of one family who doesn't deserve that money more than the Weasleys, who are extremely generous, and extremely poor. As for Percy. Ugh. Something else to make him a giant prat... more so than before... I walk to get some parchment and ink and write down my replies.

 

_Dear Fred and George,_

_I don't think I'm going to say who my favourite ginger is. I think I'll keep you in suspense for a while... and by while, I mean forever. Muahahaha._

_That uncle of mine has abused me this summer, but not much lately. It's been pretty quiet here, actually. Or, at least, quieter than usual. Which is still pretty loud, but, you know..._

_Egypt? Bloody hell, you guys are lucky! I've always wanted to go to Egypt! See the tombs, the pyramids. I mean, the culture and the history seems so interesting!_

_As for Percy, that's a real shame! That was horribly close! If she had only waited three seconds to turn around... I didn't see him becoming Head Boy coming at all! Not in the slightest._

_Anyway, as for going to Diagon Alley, there's no need to worry about that. I'll make sure they say yes, I can assure you of that. I've got a few plans up my sleeve..._

_See you soon,_

_Hazel._

_P.S. Fred, seriously, you can just call me Hazel!_

_P.P.S. You both WISHED I love you._

 

After re-reading it, I roll it up, and tie it to Midnight's leg, deciding to let Errol rest. I get another piece of parchment, and begin writing the letter to Ron, as Midnight flies away through the sky.

 

_Dear Ron,_

_It's the Martins. Of course they'll be giving me a hard time... I thought it would be obvious... but it's not as bad as usual, at least!_

_They have told me, in fact, through the letter I read before yours by mere coincidence. Anyway, you're so bloody lucky! I'd LOVE to visit Egypt. And those tombs sound wicked! And congratulations on winning the draw! And thank Merlin you're getting a new wand. You wouldn't be able to survive another year with that broken one!_

_Yeah, don't worry, you'll see me there. I'll make sure the Martins say yes. I'm planning a few things, if they say no the first time..._

_See you in a bit,_

_Hazel._

_P.S. As for Percy, how bloody wonderful. Another reason for him to be pompous..._

_P.P.S. The only reason this letter is coming later than Fred and George's, is because I'm sending it with Errol, and I want to let him rest up for a bit. Just thought I'd let you know!_

 

I re-read this letter, roll it up, and set it off to the side. I'll let Errol rest for a few more hours. I lay back down on my bed, and begin thinking of ways to get not only my Hogsmeade permission slip signed, but for Uncle Gabriel to allow me to Diagon Alley. I wouldn't put it past him to say no to both. I'll need these plans to be safe...


	4. Success!

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Four: Success!**

 

The next day, a plan fully formed in my head, I head downstairs to the living room, where Uncle Gabriel is sure to be. One of the top three places to find him is the living room, along with his office at work, and the kitchen. I clear my throat, which is my usual way to announce my presence with the Martins. Uncle Gabriel looks up at me, and scowls the same scowl he usually does when he sees me. I smile cheerfully to make him mad.

"So, Gabey, I have a bit of a question for you," I announce. "Well, two, really."

"And what are those questions, exactly?" he asks, his eyes narrowed.

"Well, firstly, I was wondering if I could go to Diagon Alley a week before term starts," I begin.

"Go to where?" Uncle Gabriel asks, confused.

"It's in London," I elaborate, "you can just drop me off near there, I'll be fine the rest of the way."

Not that it matters if I'll be fine. He couldn't care less.

"All right, I'll think about it," he replies, "and the second thing?"

"Third years at Hog- I mean, my school," I correct myself, knowing he doesn't like hearing the word 'Hogwarts', "Are allowed to visit the village nearby sometimes."

"So?" he demands.

"So, we need permission forms signed by our guardians to go," I explain, "so I need you to sign it."

"Oh, do you now?" he asks, smirking happily.

It's obvious why. He's pleased that he's finally got something that I want. His signature. I've pretty much raised myself over the years, so I've enever really depended on anyone - especially him - for anything important. But now I'm depending on him. To get that signature. He's going to milk it for all he's got. Lovely.

"Yes, I do," I reply calmly, holding out the permission slip, "so if you could just sign this, then we could both get back to our own live-"

"Not so fast," he interrupts, "I'm not sure I should give you permission to start with."

"Why not?" I ask, trying as hard as possible to keep calm.

"Because I don't think you deserve permission," he replies.

"What do you mean, Uncle Gabriel?" I ask in a voice of forced-pleasantness.

"You've been quite disrespectful," he replies, "I think you should prove yourself worthy of getting permission."

"And how should I do that, exactly?" I ask through gritted teeth.

"Just keep your mouth shut for a week, and I'll sign it," Uncle Gabriel replies, "and I'll let you go to that Diagon alley place."

"All - all right, fine," I say, "I can do that... hopefully. I'm going on a walk."

"It's raining outside, the stupid girl," Uncle Gabriel mutters, and my hands curl into fists.

I know very well that it's raining, thank you! I like the rain! I walk through pretty much all of Little Whinging, taking my sweet time as I do, spinning around every once in a while. I love rain. It's so calming. It's so easy to think about everything you can't normally think about while going about your everyday life. I think about everything. Hogwarts. What's in store for next year. About Harry, Hermione, Ron, George, Fred... Fred...

My mind dwindles on him a little longer than it should. How his hair's always perfectly messy. How his eyes light up when he smiles. His smile was bloody adorable. And how damn attractive he is when he has that mischievous look on his face. How funny he is. How he's smart, energetic, a little protective, really sweet, kind and caring. He's so amazing and - Woah. Back up there, Hazel. What d'you think your thinking? Nonsense, is what your thinking! Yes, you've always known that Fred is an attractive person, but going into so much detail - you can say - about it, is a little odd. Besides, Fred and George are bloody identical twins! If Fred's attractive, so is George! Why aren't you going into so much detail about George's attractiveness?

' _Because we don't fancy George! We fancy Fred!_ ' a little voice in my head answers in exasperation. ' _I've been trying to tell you since last year. Bloody hell, you must be deaf._ '

' _We do not fancy Fred! Are you insane?_ ' a much bigger, louder voice in my head says. ' _Fred's one of our best friends! We can't fancy him! That'd be weird!_ '

' _Too bad, because we do fancy him,_ ' the small voice argues, ' _we can't help that. You're just in denial._ '

' _Am not!_ ' the loud voice exclaims, ' _How do you even know? I bet you're just that insane part of us!_ ' _  
_

' _Am not,_ ' the small voice says calmly, ' _I'm a little something called the heart. I know these things._ '

' _Oh, please-_ ' the loud voice says, but I interrupt by talking out loud.

"GUYS! I'm trying to calmly think about things, not have an argument with myself!" I exclaim. "Maybe later."

" _All right, fine,_ " the two voices mumble, and shut up.

Bloody hell. I've gone insane. I'm having a conversation with myself... Ugh. I need to be with people. I'll go over to see Harry. Even if Marge is there. I knock on the door of number four, and wait for someone to open.

"Harry, get the door, would you?" an impatient voice yells.

I cringe. Marge. Even her voice annoys me to no end. Harry opens the door, looking grumpy, but grins at the sight of me.

"You're soaking wet!" he exclaims, stepping aside to let me in. "What, did you walk around all of Little Whinging?"

"How'd you know?" I ask incredulously.

"Oh, it's you," Marge says distastefully.

"Yes," I grumble.

"Don't be rude," she snaps. "Look at you. No more different than you were when I last saw you. Stupid. Pathetic. Ugly. Worthless."

Harry opens his mouth to say something, but I nudge him. When he looks at me, I shake my head warningly. Reluctantly, he closes his mouth again. I smile at Marge with my most pleasant smile.

"Is that so?" I ask lightly. "I suppose some things never change, huh?"

"Sadly not," she agrees, glowering at me.

"Come on, Hazel, let's go upstairs," Harry mumbles.

"Not so fast!" Petunia Dursley exclaims, bursting into the hall, "you're soaking wet! You're not making my floors so slippery and wet!"

"All right, fine," I say, and head back outside.

"I'll come with-" Harry begins, but Marge cuts him off.

"No you won't," she cuts off, "you'll be staying right here."

"Forget it, I'll see you later," I tell Harry, then turn around to leave.

"Hazel, wait," he mumbles, and when I turn around, he whispers. "I normally wouldn't listen but the only way I can go to Hogsmeade is if I behave myself."

"It's fine, Harry," I assure him. "Good luck. With everything."

He waves miserably, and I turn around to walk back to number five. I enter the house, and am in the process of ignoring Uncle Gabriel's yells of how wet I'm getting the floor, when I remember the deal.

"Don't worry, Uncle Gabriel, I'll dry it in a second," I tell him pleasantly, and walk up the rest of the stairs.

I slip and fall flat on my back when I enter my room. Ouch. I get up, and change into dry clothes. After drying off my hair, I carefully walk down the stairs, and grab a load of paper towels from the kitchen. It takes a full thirty to forty minutes to clean up all the water. I end up back in my own room. Only when I stare blankly at my trunk does a new idea strike me.

I grab my Hogsmeade permission form, and race down the steps, nearly tripping while doing so, and face Uncle Gabriel. I hold out the permission form.

"The week isn't over," he snarls.

"I know, but I want you to sign it first," I say calmly.

"Oh, so you can go back to being your usual annoying self right after I do?" he asks, his eyes narrowing. "I think not!"

"Oh, no, I'll keep my word!" I promise. "But I want you to sign it first, that way you can't refuse to sign it once the week is over."

"What, you don't trust me?" Uncle Gabriel asks, smirking.

"To be completely honest, no," I reply truthfully, but still with reluctant respect. "So, sign it, please."

"All right, fine," he snaps, snatches up the piece of paper, scribble down his signature, and hands the note roughly to me.

"Thank you," I say cheerfully, and run back upstairs.

I throw it in my trunk, then flop down on my bed, sighing. This is going to be a very long, torturous week. I'm going to have to spend a lot of time by myself if he wants me to not insult him for an entire week.

 

The days go by, and pretty soon, it's the morning of the final day! Woo! Only one more torturous day, and I can talk back to him and his snide remarks! I get dressed in my regular old flannel shirt, dark jeans, and combat boots, my hair only brushed a little, and head downstairs to breakfast.

"GOOD MORNING!" I announce cheerfully.

Uncle Gabriel glowers up at me over his newspaper, then goes back to reading. I eat some scrambled eggs, and am about to wash my plate, when Uncle Gabriel snaps. Apparently, he's reached a breaking point.

"THAT'S IT! I CAN'T TAKE IT!" he yells, so loud that Candy, who's sitting next to him, falls off her chair with a crash, "I CAN'T STAND NOT YELLING AT YOU!"

He points directly at me, and I raise my eyebrows.

"THERE'S SO MANY THINGS I CAN'T STAND ABOUT YOU! AND I WANT YOU TO TALK BACK SO I CAN YELL, BUT YOU WON'T AND I CAN'T TAKE IT! GO! GO PACK YOUR THINGS! WE'RE GOING TO THAT DIAGON ALLEY PLACE RIGHT NOW!"

"Come again?" I say in disbelief.

"GO GET YOUR THINGS! WE'RE TAKING YOU TO THAT DIAGON ALLEY PLACE! RIGHT NOW! GO NOW! I CAN'T EVEN LOOK AT YOU RIGHT NOW! GO!" he yells.

"All right!" I say, put my plat in the sink, and run upstairs to my bedroom.

He's lost his marbles. More so than before. But, hey, I get to leave earlier than I planned, so I'm not complaining! I grab my trunk, which is already packed, and Midnight's cage, and head downstairs. Uncle Gabriel is already in the hall, ready to go.

"Come on, hurry up!" he snaps.

As soon as I'm next to him, he opens the door and hurries to the car. I drag my trunk out the door, Midnight's cage under my arm. An impatient Uncle Gabriel grabs my trunk and takes it to the back seat. That works, too... I place Midnight's cage on top, and climb into the passenger seat. Uncle Gabriel doesn't talk until we're a little away from the Leaky Cauldron. He doesn't even yell about how horrible I am. Not once. This must be a new record for him.

"So, where is this Diagon Alley?" he asks impatiently.

"You can just drop me off here," I reply.

He pulls over against the curb, and looks at me expectantly. Okay, then... I unbuckle my seatbelt, and exit the car. I open the door to the back seat, and get all the stuff out of it. I drag my trunk through the streets without a backward glance at Uncle Gabriel.

I arrive at the Leaky Cauldron. Muggles around me walk right past it as though it doesn't exist. They probably can't see it...

I open the door, and see someone I don't expect at all...


	5. 'Twas the Night Before Hogwarts

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Five: 'Twas the Night Before Hogwarts**

 

"Harry?" I exclaim.

"Hazel?" Harry says, looking up at me in surprise.

"What're you doing here?" we ask in unison.

"You first," Harry demands, grinning and walking over to me.

"Well, the only way I could get my Hogsmeade permission form signed, and be able to go here, was if I was respectful to my uncle for an entire week," I explain.

"That must've been horrible for you," Harry mumbles.

"It really was. There were so many opportunities and I couldn't take them!" I exclaim. "Anyway, today was supposed to be the last day, but he kind of lost his mind, since he couldn't stand not yelling at me, and he took me right now! And I made sure he signed my form in advance."

"I wish I had thought of that," Harry says grimly.

"What d'you mean?" I ask.

"You know how I was supposed to be polite to Marge while she stayed over?" Harry says.

"Yeah," I reply, nodding slowly.

"Well, yesterday, she insulted my parents and I ended up blowing her up like a balloon," he explains.

"Bloody hell, Harry!" I exclaim, laughing. "What did the Ministry do when they found out?"

"Cornelius Fudge said that he was just pleased that I was all right..." he answers.

"What the hell does that mean?" I ask. "And why would the Minister for Magic himself deal with a matter like under-age magic?"

"No clue," he replies.

"Come on, let me get myself a room, and then we'll go exploring and stuff," I say, then walk over to the landlord.

"Room for one?" he asks, and I nod. "Follow me."

I follow him up a rickety staircase, and into a very long hallway. Finally, he stops at a door labelled '13'.

"This one's free, ma'am," he informs me. "And how long will you be staying?"

"Er, up until September 1," I reply.

"That'll be eight galleons, ma'am," he says.

I dig through my trunk, get my money bag, and hand him eight galleons. He hands me some keys, bows, waves and leaves. I throw my trunk into my room, and close the door. I shove the keys into my pocket, and examine the inside of my money bag.

"I'm running a little low," I mumble. "I'll just stop off at Gringotts and then we can go and explore Diagon Alley."

"All right," Harry agrees. "I need to get some more money, too, anyway."

"So, what happened after you blew up Marge?" I ask.

"Oh, yeah, I ran away, and during all that, there wasn't really any time to get my Hogsmeade form signed, was there?" Harry replies.

"Ah," I say in understands. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I'm sure Hogsmeade isn't that great," I assure him.

But he can tell that is a blatant lie. He knows Hogsmeade is probably amazing. And most of all he knows that I know that. Damn him and his best friend telepathy.

"Thanks, Hazel, but we both know that's probably not true," Harry mumbles.

"Well, let's no talk about that! Let's talk about how we're free to do whatever we want!" I exclaim, doing over-excited hand gestures.

"Only until term starts," Harry points out.

"Oh, don't be such a killjoy, Harry," I whine, pretending to pout.

One boring trip to Gringotts later, Harry and I are roaming Diagon Alley, going from store to store. This is what complete freedom is like, huh? It's not that bad. In fact, it's brilliant! For the next two weeks, we do whatever we want. We eat whatever we want, whenever we want, and do whatever we want. Best of all, now that I don't have to do my homework in secret, I finish in no time. And it's pretty bloody wicked having Florean Fortescue help you with your History of Magic essay, while giving you free sundaes.

Not to mention, there's a new broom out. The Firebolt. Bloody hell, that thing is brilliant! 150 miles an hour in 10 seconds! But it's much too expensive... And besides, I have my own perfectly good broom. No need to clear out my entire Gringotts vault for this one. But Harry and I go to Quality Quidditch Supplies everyday just to admire the amazing thing.

Getting the books is pretty easy. I have more to carry, since I'm taking more classes, but still... The hardest part was making sure my Care of Magical Creatures book doesn't attack me. I had to wrap some tape that the worked had handy around it.

I keep my eyes out for Ron, Hermione, Fred and George, but don't really expect to see any of them. I know they aren't coming until the week before term starts. Though, I do run into Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, some fellow Gryffindors. I stop and talk to them for a while. I also run into Neville Longbottom, but I don't talk to him for too long, since he's with his formidable grandmother. Harry's particularly uncomfortable around her, because he had to pretend to be Neville while 'on the run' from the Ministry.

I wake up on August 31, wondering if I'm just going to see Hermione, Ron, Fred and George tomorrow on the Hogwarts express. I get dressed, and meet Harry out in the hall. Together, we get through breakfast, and most of the day. Right before we're about to eat lunch, we hear our names being called.

"HARRY! HAZEL!" Ron's voice yells.

We grin at each other, and turn. There, at Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlour, are Ron and Hermione. Ron looking very freckly, Hermione brown from the sun. We run over to them.

"Finally!" Ron exclaims, grinning. "We've been looking everywhere for you! We tried the Leaky Cauldron, but they said you left, so then we went to Flourish and Blotts, Madam Malkins, and-"

"We bought our school stuff last week," I explain.

"And how'd you know we were at the Leaky Cauldron?" Harry asks.

"Dad," Ron replies simply. "Well, we sort of guessed with Hazel, but still."

"Did you really blow up your aunt, Harry?" Hermione asks seriously.

"I didn't mean to," Harry insists, as Ron roars with laughter. "I just lost control!"

"It's not funny, Ron!" Hermione says sharply. "Harry's lucky not to be expelled."

"I think I'm lucky not to be arrested, actually. Your dad doesn't know why Fudge let me off, does he?"

"Probably because it's you," Ron replies, chuckling. "Famous Harry Potter and all that. I'd hate to see what the Ministry'd do to me if I blew up an aunt. Mind you, they'd have to dig me up first, because Mum would've killed me. Anyway, you can ask Dad yourself this evening. We're staying at the Leaky Cauldron tonight too! So you can come to King's Cross with us tomorrow! Hermione's there as well!"

"Excellent!" Harry says happily. "so you've got all your books and stuff?"

"Look at this," Ron says, pulling a wand out of a box. "Brand new wand. Fourteen inches, willow, containing one unicorn hair. And we've got all our books and stuff. What about these monster books, eh? The assistant nearly cried when we said we wanted two."

"Hermione, look at all your books! I'd say you've only got a little more than Hazel," Harry exclaims. "And she's got a lot."

"Well, we're both taking nearly the same subjects, aren't we?" Hermione replies. "Those are my books for Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, the Study of Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies-"

"Why are you taking Muggle Studies? You're Muggle-born!" Ron exclaims.

"Exactly, that's why I didn't take it!" I agree.

"But it'll be interesting to learn it from a Muggle's point of view," Hermione says earnestly.

"Are you planning to eat or sleep at all this year, Hermione?" Ron asks, sniggering. Hermione ignores him.

"I've still got ten galleons," Hermione says, examining her purse. "It's my birthday in September, and mum and dad gave me money to give myself a gift."

"How about a nice book?" Ron suggests innocently. I shake my head at him, sniggering.

"I don't think so," Hermione says. "I really want an owl. I mean, they're so useful!"

"Unless they're Errol," Ron mumbles. "I want to get Scabbers checked over. I don't think Egypt agreed with him..."

I look over at Scabbers, and see that he does look thinner than usual. And his whiskers are definitely drooping.

"There's a shop for magic creatures over there," Harry says. "We can see if they've got anything for Scabbers, and get Hermione's owl."

We're walking over, when a random pair of arms grabs my waist and spins me around. I'm about to scream bloody murder, when I turn my head and see that it's none other than Fred Weasley. That prat! He nearly scared me to death!

"You prat!" I exclaim as he puts me down. "You scared me to death!"

"I do believe that's the point," Fred says, grinning.

"Ah, shut up," I mumble, and hug him.

This is when something really weird goes down. Usually, when I hug him, I feel nothing, but 'Oh, lovely, I'm hugging one of my best friends.' But now, my heart speeds up by about a million, and I feel completely safe in his arms. Like nothing can hurt me. I never want to pull away. But then I mentally slap myself, and pull away to hug George. I feel nothing like I did with Fred. Weird. What's that about? I know what you may be thinking, but I don't fancy him! I can't!"

"Just go," I tell Harry, Ron and Hermione. "I'll catch up later."

They walk away, and Hermione winks at me over her shoulder. I roll my eyes and shake my head. Fred, George and I walk through the streets, walking and talking. We also stock up on some pranking stuff. It's good to be hanging out with them again. I really have missed them.

 

We walk back into the pub, and see that Percy's talking to Harry. Going in earshot, we see that he's acting like he's meeting the mayor, instead of just talking to Harry. That Head-Boy badge has already gone to his head!

"Harry," Fred says loudly, elbowing Percy out of the way, and bowing deeply, "simply splendid to see you, old boy-"

"Marvellous," George agrees, pushing Fred out of the way, and seizing Harry's hand, "absolutely spiffing."

I burst out laughing, while Percy scowls. Mrs. Weasley doesn't find it very funny either. Ah well. You can't please everyone, I suppose...

Dinner that night is a rather cheerful affair. The innkeeper, Tom, puts three tables together, and the Weasleys, Harry, Hermione and I eat our way through five wonderful courses.

"How're we getting to Kings' Cross tomorrow, Dad?" Fred asks, as pudding arrives.

"The Ministry's providing cars," Mr. Weasley replies, and we all look up at him.

"Why?" Percy asks.

"It's because of you, Perce," George says seriously, "and there's be little flags on the hood with HB on them-"

"-for humongous bighead." Fred finishes.

Everyone except for Percy and Mrs. Weasley snorts into their pudding. Percy repeats his question in a dignified manner. I have to hand it to him, at least he can bounce back quickly.

"Well, as we haven't got one any more," says Mr. Weasley, "and as I work there, they're doing me a favour..."

But I notice Mr. Weasley go red in the ears like Ron usually does under pressure. I wonder why...

"Good thing, too," pipes up Mrs. Weasley briskly, "do you realize how much luggage you've all got between you? A nice sight you'd be on the Muggle Underground... you are all packed, aren't you?"

"Ron hasn't put all his new things in his trunk yet," replies Percy, in a long-suffering voice. "He's dumped them on my bed."

"You'd better go and pack properly, Ron, because we won't have much time in the morning," Mrs. Weasley calls down the table. Ron scowls at Percy.

Once we're finished the pudding, we head back upstairs to bed. I'm in a room next to Ron, who's sharing with Percy. Oh, lucky Ron... they seem to be arguing, since I can hear them yelling at each other. Turns out Percy thinks that Ron stole his Head-Boy badge. He's blaming the wrong person...

I go outside my room to find Fred and George, and find them crouched in the shadows behind the landing of the stairs, stifling laughter with difficulty.

"All right, what did you do to Percy's Head-Boy badge?" I ask, grinning.

They show it to me in response. The badge now reads 'Big Headed Boy'. I burst out laughing, but then quickly cover my mouth with my hand. I grin at them.

"He's going to kill you," I say.

"Oh, we're so scared," Fred says sarcastically.

"I'm going to sleep. Goodnight, you too," I tell them, laughing.

"G'night, Knight," George says.

"Night, Hazey," Fred adds.

There's that weird feeling again. That tingly feeling in my stomach. And my heart races once more. What is that, dammit?! I mean, it's warm and pleasant, but why is this happening!

"Don't you dare say I fancy Fred!" I warn that small voice in my head.

' _Then I can't tell you anything,_ ' the voice says.

Ugh. I close the door to my room. Once in my pyjamas, I crawl into bed and fall fast asleep, Fred being my last thought before I sink into my dreams.


	6. The Train Ride

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Six: The Train Ride**

 

I wake up, smiling vaguely. I had a very lovely dream. But what was it about? I can't really remember. Dammit, I hate when this happens! At least it wasn't a nightmare, I guess...

I roll over onto my side, and look into the clock. 8:00. I should start getting ready and all that. I roll out of bed, and change into an old tubular shirt, some dark jeans, and combat boots. Deciding that it might be a little chilly, I throw a sweater on top of everything. I drag my trunk, and Midnight's cage down the stairs into the pub.

I look at the clock. 9:00. Only Hermione, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are ready. Hermione's stroking a fluffy ginger cat, with a rather squashed face. I thought Hermione was getting an owl, not a cat... I walk up to her.

"What's with the cat?" I ask bluntly, "I thought you were getting an owl."

"I was, but then I saw Crookshanks, and I decided that I wanted him instead," Hermione replies, "I mean, isn't he just gorgeous?"

That's a debatable statement to make. I mean, his fluffiness is quite adorable, and the colour is quite nice. But then again, there's that squashed face, which is just ugly...

"He is rather cute," I mumble.

"See! I knew it! No matter what Ron said..." Hermione declares.

"What did Ron say?" I ask.

"He said that Crookshanks was a little devil, or something, just because he attacked Scabbers!" Hermione answers, as though this is the worst accusation in the world, "I mean, he's a cat, what does he expect? It's in their nature!"

"Well, I suppose that's true," I agree fairly, "but it's only that Ron, despite what he says and acts like, he really does care for that rat."

"Whatever," Hermione mumbles, "it's still not fair to judge Crookshanks for it!"

"I suppose," I mutter.

I change the subject hurriedly, not wanting her to rant about how horrible Ron is. I swear, they're going to be a couple some day... Slowly, the rest of the Weasleys come down. By 10:00, everyone is down, and we're ready to go.

Harry seems like he wants to talk to me about something, but isn't able to due to all the chaos that goes on in the next thirty minutes. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I are all in the same car. The car seems to be able to fit through gaps that a normal car shouldn't be able to do. There must've been enchantments put on it.

Once in King's Cross, we wheel our trolleys quite quickly. I can't help but notice that Mr. Weasley keeps close to Harry's elbow the entire time. I wonder what that's all about.

"Right, then," Mr. Weasley decides, "let's do this in pairs, as there are so many of us. I'll go first with Harry."

This time I narrow my eyes slightly at him. That was discreet. But as I just saw him keeping particularly close to Harry, this is more than a little suspicious. What is Mr. Weasley doing?

They discreetly walk through the barrier between Platform's 9 and 10. Ginny and Percy follow shortly after. Then Fred and George. Hermione and I follow. Once Mrs. Weasley hurries through, Harry and Mr. Weasley lead the way through the crowded platform, looking for an empty compartment. Finally, we find one that looks mostly deserted. After loading our trunks onto it, we turn to say our goodbyes.

Mrs. Weasley kisses and hugs each of us, ending with Harry. After, Mr. Weasley pulls Harry aside to talk to him. Curiosity wells up inside me. Dammit, I want to know what Mr. Weasley's doing!

I'm just brainstorming ideas, when I finally notice someone waving a hand in front of my face, looking rather impatient. I snap out of my train of thought, and look into the face of none other than Fred. And it's at that exact moment what I remember what my dream was about. Fred. It all rushes back to me. We were together at - I think it was the edge of the Black Lake - just walking, talking, and joking around.

Then he turned around, looked me dead in the eyes with those wonderful brown eyes of his, and whispered to me that he really, really likes me. And - here's the worst part - I said that I fancy him back. And then we kissed. We freaking kissed. What the hell? Ugh. And I actually enjoyed the bloody dream. Ugh. What the hell is wrong with me?

"HAZEL!" Fred nearly yells.

"What?! Oh, sorry," I mumble, feeling myself blush, "lost in thought."

"Clearly," Fred says, laughing, "c'mon, let's go, before the train leaves without us."

"Good idea," I mutter, and we hop onto the train right on time.

"I told Lee and George I'd go meet them for something. No clue what," Fred tells me, "so, I'll talk to you later, Hazey."

"All right, bye," I say, waving, then turn to find Harry, Ron and Hermione.

Damn me and my blushing around Fred. Why would I blush around Fred? Finally, I find them in the corridor, trying to find an empty compartment.

"Hey, guys," I greet, smiling.

"Hey," they all mumble.

"Let's go in here," Hermione finally says. "Everywhere else is full."

We stare awkwardly at the man sleeping in the corner. Well, everywhere else is full, what other choice do we have? We sit down, keeping as far away from him as possible. I, luckily, ended up farthest away from him, right at the door. Lovely.

"I wonder who he is?" Ron mumbles.

"Professor R.J. Lupin," Hermione replies promptly.

"You know everything," Ron say incredulously. "How is it that she knows everything?"

"It's on his suitcase, Ronald," I reply, shaking my head, and pointing at the battered suitcase, in which the name 'Professor R.J. Lupin' was stamped upon.

"D'you think he's actually asleep?" Harry asks.

"Looks like it," I reply. "Why?"

"I've got something to tell you," Harry says, stands up, and closes the door of the compartment.

Rain pounds on the window as Harry explains. Sirius Black is after Harry. Who is Sirius Black, you may be asking? Sirius Black is a man who escaped from Azkaban. Which, until now, was deemed an inescapable prison. So, it's kind of scary that he's escaped from it. The Ministry is so worried, they contacted the Muggle Prime Minister about him.

Why was he in Azkaban? He was right in Voldemort's inner circle. He killed thirteen people with one curse! And now that he's escaped, he's going after Harry, because he believes that if Harry's gone, Voldemort will be able to come back. Not good.

"Let me get this straight," Ron begins, breaking the heavy silence that followed Harry's words, "Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban to go after you?"

"Yes," Harry answers grimly.

"But they'll catch Black, won't they?" Hermione says anxiously. "Eventually. I mean, everyone's looking for him."

"Sure," Ron says, "but nobody's ever broken out of Azkaban before, and he's a raving, murderous, lunatic..."

"Thanks, Ron," I tell him sarcastically, "that's a real help."

"Well, I'm only saying!" he says defensively.

At that moment, Professor Lupin stirs, and we all look at him anxiously. When he simply turns his head, his mouth open slightly, we all let out a sigh of relief. I really don't want to wake him, and end up on his bad side from the start. He might be an okay person. Professor Lupin really isn't the best company...

Suddenly, three very unwanted people show up at our compartment. Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle. Ugh. I hate them. A lot. Malfoy smirks. I hate his smirk so much.

"Well, look who it is," he drawls. "Potty and the Weasel."

"Oh, very clever," I mumble sarcastically. "Really, how witty..."

"I heard your father got his hands on some gold, Weasley," Malfoy begins. "Did your mother die of shock?"

Ron stands up so quickly that he knocks Crookshank's basket to the floor. I leap to my feet, ready to hold Ron back if necessary. Harry stands up, too. Lupin gives a loud sort of snort.

"Who's that?" Malfoy asks cautiously, taking a step back at the sight of Lupin.

"New professor," I answer, smirking slightly. "What were you saying, Malfoy?"

Malfoy scowls. He wouldn't dare pick a fight with a teacher around. Even if he is a heavy sleeper like Lupin seems to be. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle leave, looking sullen that they didn't get to fight. Harry, Ron and I sit down. Ron massaging his knuckles.

"I swear, I'm not taking any more crap from Malfoy this year. He has one go at my family and-" Ron makes a violent hand gesture.

Just then, the compartment rattles. The lanterns flicker, and the train lurches, beginning to slow down. What? We can't possible be there yet. Hermione slides down the seat, pinning Ron against the window. They exchange awkward glances, and Hermione quickly slides back down to the other end of the seat. Aw, how awkwardly cute.

"Why are we stopping?" I ask, breaking the silence. "We can't possible be here yet."

"Maybe we've broken down," Harry mumbles.

I get to my feet, open the door to the compartment, and stick my head through. I peer up and down the aisle, like many others are doing, when a very powerful lurch sends me back to my seat, slamming the compartment door shut. That's when the lights go out completely. I can vaguely make out the dim outline of Ron, wiping a patch clean on the frosted windows. At that moment, I realize how cold it is. I start shivering.

"I think there are people coming aboard..." Ron mumbles.

"What?" I exclaim.

Suddenly, the door to the compartment's flung open, and someone falls painfully over my legs, with a slight squeaking sound. I can tell they've gotten off when the pain stops.

"Sorry! D'you know what's going on! Sorry! Ouch-" a voice squeaks, and I immediately recognize it at Neville's.

"Hey, Neville," I mumble, feeling around in the dark, and pulling Neville up by the cloak.

"Hazel? Is that you? What's happening?" Neville asks anxiously.

"Haven't the foggiest," I answer, "just sit down."

"I'm going to go ask the driver what's going on," Hermione's voice announces.

I feel her pass me, hear the compartment door open. Then I hear a thud and two squeals of pain. Now, I wonder what that's about.

"Who's that?"

"Who's that?"

"Ginny?"

"Hermione?"

"What're you doing here?" Hermione asks.

"I was looking for Ron." Ginny answers.

"Come in and sit down," Hermione tells her.

"Not here!" Harry says hurriedly. "I'm here!"

"Ouch!" Neville exclaims.

"Quiet!" a hoarse voice whispers.

It seems that Professor Lupin has finally decided to wake up. There's a soft crackling noise, and a shivering light, a feeble warmth filled the compartment. Lupin's holding a handful of flames. That's wicked! The flames illuminate his tired, grey face, bit his eyes are alert and wary.

"Stay here," he orders us, then slowly gets to his feet, the flames in front of his face.

But before he can get to the door, it slides open. Standing in the doorway, illuminated by Lupin's shivering flames, is a cloaked figure that's so tall it reaches the ceiling. Its face is completely hidden behind the hood of its cloak. The hand protruding from the cloak, is a disgusting looking, scabbed, decayed hand.

Then the thing takes a long, slow, rattling breath, and I have a horrible feeling that it's trying to suck a lot more than air from its surroundings. An intense cold sweeps over me. I feel my own breath catch in my chest. The cold goes deeper than just my skin. It goes inside my body, to my chest, to my very heart. I feel like I'm drowning in the cold of it all. There's a rushing sound that reminds me of water. My head's swimming.

Suddenly, I can hear horrible, terrible, desperate calls to the same person. Brandon. That name is familiar, but I can't focus my mind long enough to remember it. White fog surrounds me, and I blink desperately, trying to not let the fog surround me completely. The cold feels unbearable. I'm shivering horribly.

The white fog stops where it is, and contracts ever so slightly, and, thought I'm extremely dizzy, I'm still alive and conscious. I can feel someone collapse, and vaguely hear a slight thud. I hear the sound of footsteps from what feels like a million miles away.

"None of us are hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks. Go," I dimly hear a hoarse voice command.

That's - that's Lupin, isn't it? I can tell the cloaked figure does nothing. That's it. I don't know what this figure is, or what it does. But it's clear that either I'll die from the horribleness of the thing, or I'll never be cheerful again. I'll be terribly cold and depressed and miserable for the rest of my life.

Who I'm assuming is Lupin, raises his wand, mutters some sort of incantation. A silvery thing shoots out of his wand. Immediately, warmth spreads over me. I come back to my senses a little. The thing turns around, and glides away.

Immediately, all the lights go back on, and it's wonderfully warm. Even so, I'm still shivering rather horribly. I look down on the floor, and see an unconscious Harry. Oh my God!

I get down on my hands and knees, and begin slapping his face, calling his name desperately. He sits up, looking around the now brightly lit compartment in confusion. Ron and I heave him back to his seat.

"Are you okay?" Ron asks anxiously.

"Yeah," Harry answers feverishly. "What happened? What was - that thing? Who screamed?"

"No one screamed, Harry," I answer worriedly. "At least, I don't think so. That thing really made my mind stop..."

"Nobody screamed," Hermione screams.

"But I heard screaming," Harry insists, looking around the compartment, and at Neville and Ginny, who're both quite pale. I probably am too.

A loud snap makes us all jump. I think I nearly peed myself. Professor Lupin is breaking a large slab of chocolate into pieces. It's only because he just saved us all, that I don't scream about how he nearly scared me to death.

"Here," he says, handing it out to all of us. "Eat it. It'll help."

We all take a piece, but none of us eat it.

"What was that thing?" Harry asks Lupin.

"A Dementor," Lupin answers, crumpling the empty wrapper and puts it in his pocket. He looks around at us. "Eat. It'll help. I need to go speak to the driver, excuse me..."

He strolls towards the door, and disappears into  the corridor. Harry turns to us.

"I still don't get it... what happened?" Harry asks.

Hermione and Ron explains. Though I was conscious, I'm unable to explain, since my head was spinning, and my mind wasn't really working that well at all. It turns out I still remember the important things that happened, though.

"It was horrible," Neville says in a higher voice than usual. "Did you feel how cold it went when it came in?"

"I felt weird," Ron pipes up, shifting his shoulder uncomfortably. "Like I'd never be cheerful again."

Ginny, who's huddled in her corner, looking worse than I felt, only gives a small sob as response. Hermione walks over and puts am arm around her for comfort. I want to go over and comfort her, too, but I don't find the energy to do so. I feel rooted to my seat, feeling horrible just remembering the Dementor.

"But did any of you, you know... fall off your seats?" Harry asks awkwardly.

"No," Ron replies, looking anxiously at Harry once more, "but Ginny was shaking like mad, and Hazel nearly did."

Professor Lupin returns. He looks at all of us, and sees that we haven't even nibbled at our chocolate. Which is odd behaviour for me. I usually devour every bit of chocolate I see.

"I haven't poisoned the chocolate, you know," Lupin remarks with a small smile.

I exchange a 'why not?' look with Harry, and we both take a large bite out of the chocolate. Immediately, and to my utter astonishment, warmth spreads through me from head to toe.

"We'll be at Hogwarts in ten minutes," Lupin informs us. "Are you all right, Harry?"

How the hell does he know Harry's name? Wait. Harry's famous. Right. I kind of forgot about that... I haven't seen people fawn over him in such a long time. A nice change, really. Good thing Lupin isn't doing that.

"Fine," Harry mumbles, looking embarrassed.

Harry really shouldn't be embarrassed. I find it to be quite understandable to pass out. Those Dementors are completely horrible. I almost passed out myself.

None of us talk much for the rest of the journey to Hogwarts. Sure enough, like Lupin said, we arrive at Hogwarts after ten minutes. There's a great scramble to get outside. Owls hoot, cats meow, and Trevor the toad croaks from inside Neville's hat. It's freezing on the tiny platform, with rain coming down in icy sheets.

Despite this, and how horrible that Dementor was, I can't help but smile at the chaos going on around me. I'm so close to being back inside Hogwarts. I'm so close to being back home.


	7. The Feast

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Seven: The Feast**

 

"Firs' years this way!" a familiar voice calls. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I turn around and see Hagrid beckoning terrified looking First Years over. Aw. I remember when I was a First Year. I was so young and innocent... well, maybe not innocent, but I was younger! "All righ', you four?"

We wave at him, but have no chance to talk to him, due to the hundreds of people shunting us away off the platform. We follow the rest to a rough track, where at least a hundred stagecoaches stood, waiting for the rest of us. I suppose it's pulled by an invisible horse, because when we enter it, it starts off all by itself.

The carriage smells kind of like mould and straw. Which isn't the most pleasant scent, but whatever... I feel a lot better from the chocolate, but I'm still a tiny bit weak. Ron and Hermione keep sending Harry worried glances, as though afraid he might collapse again. I can't help but worry about that, but don't frequently check on him, because I know he's only like that near Dementors.

As the carriage trundles over to a magnificent pair of wrought iron gates, flanked with stone columns with winged boars, I see two more towering Dementors, standing guard on either side. I immediately feel that horrible coldness swell up inside of me. I take a deep breath, and relax myself. It's only for a second, Hazel. It's okay.

At last, the carriage sways to a halt, and we all get out of the carriage. The moment Harry steps out, a delighted voice sounds nearby. A voice I recognize all too well.

"You fainted, Potter? Longbottom's telling the truth? You actually fainted?"

Malfoy elbows past Hermione to block Harry's way up the stone steps. We all glare at him. His face is gleeful, and his eyes are glinting maliciously. The bloody git...

"Shove off, Malfoy," Ron snaps, jaw clenched.

"Did you faint as well, Weasley? Did the scary old Dementor frighten you, too, Weasley?" Malfoy asks, in a loud babyish voice.

"Is there a problem, here?" a mild voice asks.

Professor Lupin has just gotten out of the last carriage. Malfoy gives Lupin an insolent stare, taking in the patched in the former's robes, and the dilapidated suitcase. With a tiny hint of sarcasm, he responds.

"Oh - er - no,  _Professor_ ,"

He smirks a little at Crabbe and Goyle, then they go into the Entrance Hall. Hermione prods Ron in the back to make him hurry, and together, we join the swarm of students heading for the Entrance Hall. We've barely made it to the Entrance Hall, when the strict voice of Professor McGonagall sounds.

"Potter! Granger! Knight! I'd like to see the three of you," she informs us.

Harry, Hermione and I turn around in shock. McGonagall is a strict, rather old woman, who always wears her hair in a tight bun, and has sharp eyes framed with squared spectacles. Harry and I exchange nervous glances, and fight our way over to her. McGonagall always gives me the feeling that she's about to punish me. A lot of the times she  _is_ , but it's more than a little intimidating all the same.

"There's no need to look so worried - I just want a word in my office," she assures us. "Move along there, Weasley."

Ron stares as McGonagall ushers us in the opposite direction of most of the students. I mouth 'see you later!' and turn to face the front. Once in her small office with her welcoming fire, she motions for us to sit down.

"Professor Lupin sent an owl saying that you were taken ill on the train, Potter," McGonagall begins abruptly.

Before Harry can reply to this, Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, comes bustling in. Harry goes red in the face. It's clear he doesn't want them to make such a fuss about him passing out.

"I'm fine, I don't need anything," Harry insists.

"Oh, it's you, is it?" Madam Pomfrey remarks, looking not at all surprised by this fact, "I suppose you've been doing something dangerous again, have you?"

"It was a Dementor, Poppy," McGonagall informs her.

They exchange dark looks, and Madam Pomfrey clucks disapprovingly.

"Setting Dementors around the school," she grumbles, feeling Harry's forehead, "he won't be the last one who collapses. Yes, he's all clammy. Terrible things, they are, especially to those who are already delicate-"

Ouch. Right in the pride. That's a bit of a low blow. I mean, Harry's been through a lot, sure, but is calling him  _delicate_ really necessary?

"I'm no delicate!" Harry protests.

"Of course you're not," Madam Pomfrey agrees absent-mindedly, now taking his pulse.

"What does he need?" McGonagall asks briskly. "Bed rest? Should he perhaps stay in the hospital wing for the night?"

"I'm fine!" Harry exclaims, leaping to his feet.

Poor boy. All this treatment must be horribly embarrassing. Not to mention down right annoying.

"Well, he should at least have some chocolate," Madam Pomfrey replies, now trying to peer into Harry's eyes.

"I've already had some," Harry tells them quickly, "Professor Lupin gave it to me. He gave some to all of us."

"Did he, now?" Madam Pomfrey asks, looking impressed. "Finally, a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who knows his remedies."

That is quite convenient. At least, it's a hell of a lot more convenient than having a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who just liquefies all your bones. Not to name any names though. Just - Lockhart - a few select teachers - Lockhart - that did that once - Lockhart.

"Are you sure you feel all right, Potter?" McGonagall asks sharply.

"Yes!" Harry insists.

"Very well. Kindly wait while I have a word with Ms. Granger and Ms. Knight about their course schedule, then we can all go down to the feast together."

Harry went back outside into the corridor with Madam Pomfrey, who's muttering to herself... Hermione and I turn to face McGonagall. This must be to get out Time Turners. I feel extremely excited. They seem so bloody wicked!

"So, Ms. Granger, Ms. Knight," McGonagall begins, "I'm assuming you know why you're here. To receive your Time Turners. I had to write a whole bunch of letters to the Ministry, saying that you two are very studious, receive very high marks, and will use them responsibly. They are here."

From one of the drawers of her desk, she pulls out two necklaces. They're both gold, and there are three circles. The middle circle, contains a sort of hourglass, with star shaped holes around it. She hands one to each of us. I throw mine around my neck immediately.

McGonagall explains how to use them, and the rules. For once, I listen very attentively to the rules. Because these aren't normal rules. They are the rules of time travel. These riles are actually very important.

"Remember, you have to be extremely careful that you aren't seen whilst going back in time," McGonagall warns us. "You mustn't be seen! Many horrible thongs have happened when time travelling wizards are seen. Do not tell anyone about this. And remember, use this responsibly. No funny business or pranks, Ms. Knight."

"I won't, Professor," I promise, chuckling at how she was talking directly to me, "I'll only use it for school work."

"Very well," McGonagall says briskly. "Let's go down to the feast."

Beaming, Hermione and I follow McGonagall out into the corridor, and meet with Harry. The Great Hall is a sea of black, pointed hates. We've missed the Sorting; Professor Flitwick is carrying the stool with the Sorting Hat on it out of the Hall.

We find Ron, and hurry over to him. Several people point and whisper at Harry. Did the news about Harry collapsing really ravel that fast? Funny how quickly gossip can travel... we sit down next to Ron, who had been saving us seats. How sweet.

"What was that all about?" Ron asks.

Harry starts to explain quietly, but the moment the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, begins to speak, Harry falls silent. Understandable, really. Albus Dumbledore, while rather old, gave the impression of great energy. He has several feet of long silver hair and heard, half-moon spectacles, and a crooked nose. Many people have more than once said that he's the greatest wizard in the world. While I agree with them very much, that's not the reason I respect him. Or, at least, the sole reason. You can't help but trust Albus Dumbledore, and feel rather safe around him as well. He calms you down.

"Welcome!" he says, beaming around at all the students. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few announcement to make, and as one of them is rather serious, I feel that it's best to get it out of the way before we're befuddled by our excellent feast."

He clears his throat and continues.

"As you will be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, Hogwarts is playing host to some of the Dementors of Azkaban, who are here in Ministry of Magic business. They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds, and while they are here, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave the school without permission. Dementors are not fooled by tricks or disguises - or even Invisibility Cloaks-" he adds blandly, and Harry, Ron and I glance at each other. "It is not in the nature of a Dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to our prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl to make sure that no students run afoul of the Dementors."

Percy puffs out his chest, and looks around the hall impressively. Pompous prat. Dumbledore pauses; he looks very seriously around the Hall, and nobody moves or makes a sound.

"On a happier note," Dumbledore continues cheerfully, "I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year. First, Professor R.J. Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

There's a scatters, unenthusiastic round of applause for Professor Lupin. Only Harry, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Neville and I - AKA. the people who were with Lupin when he got rid of that Dementor and saved our bloody lives in the process - clap loudly. Professor Lupin looks particularly shabby next to all the teachers in their best robes.

"Look at Snape," Ron hisses.

Professor Snape, the Potions Master of Hogwarts, is staring along the aisle at Lupin. It's common knowledge that Snape really wants the Defence Against the Dark Arts job, but I'm taken aback by the look Snape is giving Lupin. I've seen him give looks of hatred to people before. Neville, Ron, me... But this is more than just hatred. This is pure loathing. This looks competes very well with the look he gives Harry all the time. He's never shown that kind of loathing with any other teacher, what makes Lupin so different?

"As to our second appointment," Dumbledore continues once Lockhart's lukewarm applause dies down. Well, I'm sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, has retired to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I'm delighted to say that the post will be taken by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take the teaching job along with his gamekeeping duties."

There's a much louder applause at this, particularly at the Gryffindor table. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I sit there in shock, then finally clap loudly with the rest. Hagrid's ruby red in the face, and staring down at his hands, beaming.

"We should've known!" Ron roars, pounding on the table. "Who else would send us a biting book?"

That's actually really true... We're the very last to stop clapping, and when Dumbledore starts to speak again, we can see Hagrid wiping his eyes on the tablecloth.

"Well, I think that's everything of importance," Dumbledore announces. "Let the feast begin!"

The goblets and plates suddenly fill themselves with food and plates. Suddenly extremely hungry, I take a bit of everything in vicinity, and begin stuffing my face. It's a brilliant feast. Though, eventually, I find myself wanting it to be over so I can talk to Hagrid. I'm not alone. Harry, Ron and Hermione are very eager s well. We all know how much being a teacher means to him, since he isn't a fully qualified wizard. He was expelled in his Third Year for a crime he didn't commit. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I cleared his name last year.

Finally, when Dumbledore announces that the feast is over and that it's time for bed, we get our chance. We hurry over to Hagrid, who's at the teachers' table.

"Congratulations, Hagrid!" Hermione squeaks.

"All down ter you four," Hagrid mumbles, wiping tears from his eyes. Can' believe it... Great man, Dumbledore... came straight down ter me hut when Professor Kettleburn said he had enough... It's what I always wanted..."

Overcome with his emotions, Hagrid buries his face into a napkin, and McGonagall shoos us away. Good on Dumbledore to give him the job. I'm sure he could've easily given the job to a fully qualified wizard, but he gives it to Hagrid instead. Understandable. I wouldn't have picked anyone else myself. Not only does Hagrid really love magical creatures, but he's as loyal as anyone, especially to Dumbledore and Hogwarts.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I join the other Gryffindors streaming up the marble staircase towards Gryffindor tower. Finally, we reach the portrait of the Fat Lady, who conceals the entrance to Gryffindor tower.

"Password?" she asks promptly.

"Coming through, coming through," Percy calls from behind the crowd. "The new password's Fortuna Major."

"Oh no," Neville mumbles sadly.

He always had such a hard time remembering the passwords. I pat his shoulder reassuringly. "I'm sure you're be fine." I assure him.

Through the portrait hole, and straight across the common room, the boys go up their staircase, and the girls up their own. Reaching the familiar circular dormitory with its four poster beds, I smile happily. I change into my pyjamas, bid everyone in the dormitory goodnight, and crawl into bed, drawing the scarlet curtains around me. It's good to be back. Very good. I slowly drift off to sleep.


	8. Comfort and Denial

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Eight: Comfort and Denial**

 

I sit bolt upright in my bed. The same dream. Of my parents being murdered. Again. Of course. That dream  _has_  to come up when I'm happy. Ugh. I can feel the sweat and tears all over me. Again. God, I hate this dream so much. It's so terrifying, and horribly sad. I stand up, and as usual, wipe the sweat and tears off of me, and begin pacing. This is a little harder, since there are four beds to avoid, wardrobes, trunks, and I have to be quiet so to not wake up Hermione, Lavender and Parvati. **  
**

Finally, I decide to just pace around the common room, which is bound to be empty. I mean, it's 2am, everyone'll be asleep! I carefully tiptoe out of the room, and quietly open and close the door. Halfway down the spiral staircase, in mid step, I remember something from my dream.

When Voldemort murdered my father in my dream, my mother called his name several times, looking terrified. Desperately. Miserably. Hauntingly. I heard that exact same voice when the Dementor came on the train.

This should be an obvious sort of fact. It's clear that Dementors make you relive your worst moments, suck out the happiness in you, leave you to be depressed forever. This is obvious. So I don't understand why this fact makes me want to bawl my eyes out. And then it hits me. That if my mother calling out to my dead father is real. That means the entire dream is probably real. Maybe a few minor details are different, but it's still the same idea.

And  _that_ is what makes me want to bawl my eyes out. I sprint down the rest of the spiral staircase, fling myself into the empty common room, close the door quickly, collapse on the couch closest to the fire, and begin completely bawling.

I try to keep my voice down, but I'm probably failing horribly. I feel so stupid. Why am I crying now? Why am I crying in the first place? I already knew Voldemort killed my parents, and it's not hard to guess how it happened. Is it because I've now realized I've been seeing what actually happened in my dreams, instead of just my own brain's horrible images?

I hear sudden footsteps, and sit upright very quickly, wiping my tears in the process, knowing very well that my eyes are probably red and puffy, and that my skin is probably very pale. I face the door of the boys dormitories, and Fred walks out.

We just stare at each other in silence for a moment, both of us rooted to our spots. Then, finally, Fred breaks the heavy silence.

"Hazey, what's wrong?" he asks, taking in my tear-stained, depressed appearance.

"Nothing, it's nothing," I say quickly, looking determinedly at a bit of the floor.

"Hazey, you really need to work on your lying," Fred informs me, walking over and sitting next to me, "It's clear you've been crying, and you weren't looking at me when you said it was nothing. So, what's wrong?"

"Really, it's not a big deal," I insist. "I mean, it happens all the time. I'm just kind of used to it by now."

"If it's not big deal, then you can tell me," Fred counters.

"Damn you and your stubborn nosiness, Fred Weasley." I mumble. "All right, fine, I'll tell you. But it's just a dream, it's no big deal."

"If it was no big deal, you wouldn't have been crying," Fred points out, and I notice some concern with his stubbornness.

"Whatever. So, I had this dream, that I have a lot," I begin. "It's the dream of Voldemort murdering my parents."

Fred winces at the sound of Voldemort's name, but nods slightly. Under most circumstances, I would've told him to man up and that it's just a name, but now it's different. Much more serious. Odd. I never thought I'd have a serious conversation with Fred Weasley.

"Please don't make me go into detail about it, it's enough living through it in my nightmares," I plead. "I always feel so helpless during this dream, because I'm just sitting there watching them get murdered."

"Hazel, that's not-" Fred begins, but I cut him off.

"I know it's not my fault or anything I can help," I interrupt, "I just feel that way, all right? Anyway, every time I've had this dream, it's always been so vivid, and realistic. Which is so terrifying, and horrible. I always tried to convince myself it was just an uncanny coincidence. I never bought it, of course, but I pretended I did. So, I lied to myself, if that makes any sense..."

"Only a little," Fred mumbles.

"Anyway, when the Dementor came on the train, I heard a woman screaming, "I continue, "my mother. She's screaming my father's name. After Voldemort killed him, I mean. And my mother did in that dream. She does that every single time. It can't just be coincidence. I couldn't even try to fool myself out of that any more. That must have happened the night my parents died. And if that happened, everything else must have happened, too,"

I start shaking slightly. Just thinking about it is absolutely nothing compared to the torture of telling someone about it. Fred senses that I might start crying again at any given moment, and puts his arm around my shoulder comfortingly. I take a deep breath, and continue.

"And, I dunno why, but I sort of cracked when I realized it. To realize that's what actually happened, instead of it just being a figment of my imagination... it was just horrible..." I conclude. "And now I feel so stupid and whiny because I'm just randomly crying and I haven't got a clue why and-"

"Hey, Hazel," Fred interrupts, stroking my hair soothingly.

It's a mark of the seriousness of our conversation that Fred doesn't call me Hazey.

"You shouldn't feel stupid and whiny. It's completely understandable to cry over that," Fred mumbles. "And you're mental if you can think that you're whiny and stupid for crying over this. One, you don't go around spazzing about it to everyone you meet.  _That's_ being whiny. Not reluctantly telling someone about it. Two, stupidity is just randomly bursting into tears about something stupid. Like what girls usually do."

He clears his throat dramatically.

"Oh my gosh! I lost my make-up bag! How am I supposed to go on with my life!" Fred says, putting on a horrible, yet hilarious, impression of those annoying girly-girls. "Then cue the sobbing. Honestly, it's so annoying."

I start laughing, then bury my head into his shoulder to muffle it. Finally, I take my head off his shoulder so that I actually speak.

"That was perfect!" I gasp in between laughs. "That was the most perfect impression ever!"

"I know. I  _am_ Fred Weasley, after all," he declares.

"Don't make that sound like a good thing, Freddie," I tease.

"Hey! I'm hurt," Fred says, pretending to look offended.

"Oh, that sucks," I reply cheekily, ruffling his already messy hair.

We start to joke around a little, and pretty soon we're both trying to stifle our laughter so as not to wake all of Gryffindor. Fred still has his arm around my shoulders, and strokes my hair every once in a while out of nowhere. I suppose he's afraid that my mind'll wander back to the dream, and I'll burst into tears again. He shouldn't fret. I'm fine, now. Thanks to him.

"I've just realized something," I announce. "Oliver is going to work us even more than ever this Quidditch season."

"Doesn't he already do that?" Fred mumbles.

"Well, yes, but he's going to do it more than ever," I elaborate. "Since this is his last year here. He'll make sure we win the House Cup, or die trying."

"Oh, damn, you're right," Fred agrees. "If he was working us hard last year, it'll be nothing compared to this year."

"Bloody hell, he's going to make us play even if we've lost a limb," I exclaim.

"This should be fun," Fred says sarcastically.

"But, at least it's Quidditch," I point out.

"True," Fred agrees, grinning. "Did you hear? Cedric Diggory's the new captain for the Hufflepuff team."

It takes me a while to realize who he is. Then I remember. He's that attractive Hufflepuff boy in Fred and George's year.

"Oh, yeah, I know him." I remark.

"You do? You never talk about him, and I've never seen you with him," Fred says.

"Well, I know  _of_ him, which is pretty much the same thing," I elaborate.

"Whatever you say, Hazey,"

"He plays Seeker, doesn't he? Cedric, I mean," I ask.

"Yeah. Apparently not that well, either, considering Harry caught the snitch in five minutes when we played against Hufflepuff," Fred replies.

I laugh, and point out, "Well, not every Quidditch team can have the youngest person to become a Seeker in a century."

"True, so it's bloody wicked that we do," Fred replies.

"Yeah, it really is," I agree. "You know, I have a feeling we're going to win this. I think we're going to win the Cup."

"Getting a little confident, huh, Hazey? The season hasn't even started yet," Fred says, grinning.

"Well, maybe not, but I still think we'll win," I insist. "Think about it. Our team is amazing. Gryffindor should've won two years in a row, but due to certain circumstances, we got destroyed the first time - since Harry was in the hospital wing - and the season was cancelled the second time. I just know we would've won last year if the season hadn't been cancelled. Which must mean we'll win this one."

"Not to mention Oliver's going to train us so hard that we'll be uncomfortable walking around once we finally get off our brooms," Fred adds.

"You mean  _if_ we  _ever_  get off our brooms," I correct. "This is Oliver  _Wood_ we're talking about."

"True," Fred says, laughing a bit. "I wouldn't put it past him to try and convince Dumbledore to let the entire team practice 24/7."

"Neither would I," I agree, laughing. "I love Quidditch a lot, but that boy takes it much too seriously."

"No, Hazey, really? I didn't notice at all," Fred says sarcastically.

"Haha," I laugh sarcastically. "I'm only  _saying_. Anyway, I swear the death of that boy is going to be Quidditch related."

"I bet that's how he wants to go..." Fred adds.

"If he doesn't go on to play on some profession Quidditch team when he's older, then I'm a Muggle," I declare.

"He's probably not going to marry a girl," Fred predicts, "he'll marry Quidditch."

I bury my head into his shoulder again to stifle my laughter. We joke around about Oliver Wood and his Quidditch obsession for a while longer, then end up talking about plans for this year.

"I'm just going to prank and make prank things," Fred declares.

"What about your OWLs?" I ask. "Don't you have those this year?"

"Oh, whatever, they're ages away. I'll study for those later..." Fred says airily.

"You can study?" I ask in awe. "I thought you were physically and mentally incapable!"

"I'll have you know that I could study if I wanted to," Fred protests. "I just don't want to."

"Or do you not want to because you can't?" I ask, smirking.

"No, it's the first one," Fred insists, smirking. "Anyway, what about you?"

"What about me?" I ask.

"It's your Third Year," Fred elaborates, "you'll be taking extra classes. Aren't you taking like, forty new classes?"

"I'm taking a fair few," I reply. "Just because I don't just pick one, like you, doesn't mean I pick a million, Freddie."

"But you're taking the most out of your year! Or, at least, that's what Ron told me... you're only behind Hermione by what I think is a one class difference."

"Yeah, that's right," I answer casually.

"Are you two planning on eating or sleeping at all?" he asks incredulously, sniggering a little.

"Obviously. I couldn't live without sleeping and eating," I reply promptly.

"I'm only saying, that's a hell of a lot of classes," Fred points out. "Anyway, not only that, but Third Year is kind of a big turning point in your Hogwarts life..."

"What?" I ask in confusion. "Why?"

"I dunno, really," he answers, "everything just seems different..."

"I don't get that at all, Freddie," I inform him.

"I mean, don't you feel a lot older than you did last year? Like, a lot older than you should feel?" Fred asks.

"I guess, now that you mention it..." I answer.

"Well, that's what I mean," Fred declares triumphantly. "That everything is sort of different because you're all older now. And feel all older."

"Okay, then," I mumble, "I'll keep that in mind..."

"Good. You should." Fred advises.

I laugh a little. Then, suddenly, I et out a yawn. I actually am really tired right now.

"I'm going to bed," I announce, "I'm really tired right now."

Fred takes his arm off my shoulders. I feel a surge of disappointment that I mentally slap myself for. I get to my feet.

"Yeah, I reckon I should go to bed, too," Fred agrees, standing up, and stretching, yawning himself.

I hesitate slightly, then hug him. Fred's a little surprised for a second, then hugs back. There's that wonderful, blissful feeling of safety, warmth, comfort and happiness again. Dammit, the more this happens the more I think that I might actually fancy Fred Weasley after all. But that's impossible! I can't fancy Fred! I just can't!

"Thanks," I whisper.

"For what?" Fred asks, as we pull away, me feeling reluctant.

Dammit, Hazel, stop that!

"Nothing... everything..." I answer. "Oh, I dunno, just accept the thank you."

"All right, then, you're welcome," he says, laughing that wonderful laugh of - Hazel. It's just a laugh. Only a laugh. That's all.

"G'night, Freddie," I say.

"Night, Hazey," he says, waving and smiling.

I wave back with a small smile, and we go our separate ways. I tiptoe back to my dormitory, and quietly walk back to my bed. I feel someone stir somewhere to my left. My head snaps to that general direction. It's Hermione's bed. I stay completely still at my place, praying she's still asleep. When all she does is turn over, I sigh in relief. I crawl as quietly as I can into bed, and draw the curtains around me.

Fred. Fred is so wonderful. Being so supportive. Comforting me. Making me laugh when I didn't even want to smile. He's so sweet. He's always there for me. Even if I  _did_ fancy him - which I don't! - what'd be so bad about it, anyway? What'd be so wrong? I mean, Fred's a great guy. It's quite understandable to fancy him!

" _HAVE YOU GONE MAD!?_ " That loud voice in my head yells.

" _No, she's only come to her senses!_ " the smaller voice replies.

"I _t's Fred bloody Weasley, for Merlin's sake! We can't fancy HIM! Of all the people of the world, we can't fancy HIM! We just can't!_ " the loud voice yells.

" _You keep saying that we 'just can't like Fred' but you never provide any evident why. You've never told us what's so bad about liking Fred, in the first place!_ " the small voice says.

" _You know, that's a good point,_ " I think to the louder voice.

" _Because he's one of our best friends! We can't like him! That'd be like fancying Harry!_ "

" _Another good point,_ " I think.

" _It's nothing like fancying Harry! Harry's like our brother. We've known each other since we were five. We've been supplying each other with the family none of us have ever had. While we're close with Fred, we'll never have that kind of relationship with him. We fancy him, and that's that!_ " the small voice argues.

" _A good retort,_ " I think.

" _WHAT SIDE ARE YOU ON, ANYWAY?_ " the loud voice asks me.

" _I'm not quite sure, actually. I guess the one that makes the most sense in the long run..._ " I think as response.

" _So, my side!_ " both voices say at the same time.

" _Listen, we can't fancy Fred. We may not have the same relationship as we do with Harry, but you have to admit it'd be weird fancying him. We're too close, pretty much like siblings with him, when you think about it. Not the same way with Harry, but still, in a way. Besides, let's say we go out with him, and then we break up. Imagine what that'd do to our friendship! That wonderful, close, trustful friendship gone, just because we were idiots deluding ourselves by saying we like Fred! Just because you believed that little voice. You're too smart to fall foe what that little voice is saying. Come now, you know we don't like Fred. It's just that him being there for us so much lately while we've been so upset has made you reconsider. But, when you think about it, you know we don't. We just don't._ " the loud voice says.

Damn. That was pretty freaking convincing.

" _Thanks, but I'm only telling you the truth. Don't you see? We don't fancy Fred. It wouldn't be right. One day we'll meet the perfect guy for us - hopefully someday soon! - but it's not Fred!_ " the loud voice insists.

" _We don't need to look for the perfect guy, because we already found him! It's Fr-_ " the small voice begins, but I cut it off.

" _No, we don't like him. We can't. It's too risky, for one thing. And it's only because he's been comforting us lately, like the loud voice said. Tomorrow he'll go right back to being all loud and teasing us all the time, and everything'll go back to normal, and it'll be like none of it ever happened. And then you'll see that we don't belong together,_ " I tell the small voice.

" _HA! I knew you were too smart to believe what the other voice was saying!_ " the loud voice says triumphantly.

" _The blindness and denial of you two is annoying and unbearable,_ " the small voice huffs, and slowly, I drift off to sleep.


	9. Important Notice!!!

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Nine: Important Notice!!!**

 

The  _actual_ author of this story accidentally deleted her divination chapter, and she didn't want to have to write it all again, so this is just going to be a brief of what happens.

 

Hermione wakes us Hazel from a particularly good dream she was having. A dream of Fred. The same dream she had the night before they went to Hogwarts. Hazel finally admits to herself that it's a pleasant dream. But only because Fred's a good kisser in this dream. Hermione points out that Hazel talks in her sleep, and said that she heard Hazel muttering the name 'Fred' a suspicious amount of times, considering the fact that Hazel claims to not fancy Fred. Hermione also points out that Hazel said, "I fancy you, too, Fred" in this dream, which is also suspicious, considering the fact that she claims not to fancy him. When Hazel tries to retort to this, Hermione argues with, "Why are you blushing, then?" since Hazel is blushing quite a bit. It's getting harder for Hazel to deny that she doesn't like Fred.

Fred and George reassure Harry that passing out when the Dementors came isn't a big deal, since those Dementors are so horrible, anyway. And Fred attempts to cheer him up by reminding him of how Gryffindor's going to beat Slytherin in the first match of the season. Again.

They go off to Divination, and study tea dregs. Professor Trelawney doesn't get on Hazel's good side, and Hazel thinks she's a right fraud. Hermione agrees quite bit.

Also, while examining Hazel's tea dregs, Hermione sees a heart in Hazel's cup, and says out loud, "That means love, obviously. That can be with Fred! In which case, Divination might be slightly accurate for once!"

Hazel freaks out at this, and quickly checks to see if anyone heard Hermione. She's pretty sure nobody did, but she's still worried. She's still trying to convince herself that she doesn't like Fred, and is quite confused, so if someone hears what Hermione said, and starts spreading rumours, it'd be horrible. What if Fred heard? What would become of their wonderful friendship?

When Hazel is about to interpret what Hermione's tea dregs mean, Harry lets out a snort of laughter. Trelawney gives Ron and Harry reproving looks, and reads out the omens in Harry's cup - the falcon, the club, the skull - finally ending dramatically with the Grim.

Harry snaps because everyone's trying to figure out if there's really a Grim in his cup, and therefore trying to figure out whether he's going to die or not. After he snaps at them, nobody but Hazel can even look at him. She gives him a look that says, "It's all rubbish, anyway..." but they're both still worried.

Professor Trelawney dismisses the class with her mistiest voice, and the Gryffindors head for Transfiguration. Hazel and Hermione, however, use the Time-Turner to go back in time to make it to their Arithmancy lesson. Hazel thinks it's a pretty decent subject, but the work is really complicated, and it's a bit dull at times. Hazel goes down to Transfiguration, while Hermione goes back in time to go to Muggle studies.


	10. To Tame a Hippogriff... is Pretty Hard

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Ten: To Tame a Hippogriff... is Pretty Hard**

 

It takes us so long to get to the Transfiguration classroom, due to all the new staircases and such, that when we arrive, we're only just on time.

Harry chooses a seat right at the back, and I'm not sure whether I should sit beside him. He might want to be alone to think it all over. I know I would. But when he smiles slightly, I know he doesn't mind. I sit by him, Ron sits on his other side, and Hermione beside me.

The rest of the class keeps sending furtive glances at Harry, as though he's about to drop dead at any given moment. I try to ignore this, and do my best to listen to McGonagall's lesson on Animagi. McGonagall turns into a tabby cat, with spectacle markings around her eyes, and I'm fairly impressed. I would've been more impressed if I wasn't so distracted by this Grim business.

"Really, what has gotten into all of you today," Professor McGonagall asks, after changing back to herself with a faint pop, "not that it matters, but this is the first time my transformation hasn't got applause from a class."

Everybody's head turns to Harry, but nobody speaks. Finally, Hermione raises her hand.

"Please, Professor, we just had our first Divination class, and we were reading tea leaves, and-"

"Ah, of course," McGonagall interrupts, frowning, "there is no need to say more, Ms. Granger. Tell me, which one of you will be dying this year?"

Everyone stares at her in disbelief. Then Harry speaks up.

"Me," Harry tells her.

"I see," McGonagall says, "then you should know, Potter, that Sybill Trelawney has predicted the death of one student a year since she arrived at this school. Seeing death omens is her favourite way to greet the class. If it were not for the fact that I will never speak ill of my colleagues-" Professor McGonagall breaks off, and we all see that her nostrils have gone white. She went on, more calmly. "Divination is one of the most imprecise branches of magic. I shall not conceal from you that I have little patience with it. True Seers are very rare, and Professor Trelawney..." she stops again, then adds in a matter-of-fact tone. "You look in excellent health to me, Potter, so you'll excuse me that I don't let you off homework today. I assure you that if you die, you need not hand it in."

Hermione and I laugh, and my glancing at him, I can tell that Harry feels a bit better. But some people still aren't convinced. Ron still looks worried, and Lavender whispers, "But what about Neville's cup?"

I actually don't think that was actual predicting. I think the only reason that Neville  _did_ drop that cup is because Trelawney told him that he would. So, since Neville was worried about that, and had it in his brain that he was going to drop it, he did. If Trelawney kept her mouth shut, I'm sure Neville wouldn't have dropped it.

When Transfiguration ends, we join the rest of the mass of students thundering down to the Great Hall for lunch.

"Cheer up, Ron," Hermione says, pushing some stew towards him. "You heard what McGonagall said."

Ron spoons some stew onto his plate, picks up his fork, but doesn't start eating it. Strange. He usually eats like mad. "Harry," Ron says in a low, serious voice, "you haven't seen any black dogs lately, have you?"

"Yeah, actually, I have," Harry replies. "I saw one the night I left the Dursleys."

Ron's fork falls to the table with a clatter, and he looks more terror-stricken than ever.

"Probably just a stray," Hermione interjects calmly.

"Hermione, if Harry saw the Grim, that - that's bad," Ron says, looking at Hermione as though she's gone mad. "My Uncle Bilius saw it and died twenty-four hours later!"

"Coincidence," Hermione insists airily, pouring herself some pumpkin juice.

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Ron insists, starting to get angry. "The Grim scares the living daylights out of wizards!"

"Well, there you have it, then!" Hermione counters in a superior tone. "They see the Grim and die of fright. The Grim's not an omen, it's the cause of death! And Harry's still with us because he's not stupid enough to see one and think, right, well, I'd better kick the bucket, then!"

Ron mouths wordlessly at Hermione, who gets the Arithmancy book I got her last year for Christmas, and props it against her juice jug.

"I think Divination seems very woolly," she adds, searching for her page. "A lot of guesswork, if you ask me."

"There's nothing woolly about that Grim in Harry's cup!" Ron insists hotly.

"You didn't seem quite so confident when you were telling Harry it was a sheep," Hermione counters coolly.

"Professor Trelawney said you didn't have the right aura! You just don't like being bad at something for a change!" Ron snaps.

Apparently, Ron had touched a nerve. Hermione slams her Arithmancy book down on the table so hard that bits of meat and carrots flew everywhere.

"If being good at Divination means pretending to see a bunch of omens in a clump of tea leaves, I don't think I'll be studying it much longer!" she snaps. "That lesson was complete rubbish compared to my Arithmancy lesson!"

Hermione snatches her bag, and storms out of the Great Hall. Ron frowns at her.

"What is she talking about?" Ron asks. "She hasn't had an Arithmancy lesson yet."

I'm quite happy to get out of the castle after lunch. Yesterday's rain had cleared up, and now the sky is a pale grey, and the grass was springy and damp underfoot as we set off for our first ever Care of Magical Creatures class.

Ron and Hermione aren't speaking to each other. Harry and I are in between then, and we walk in silence over to Hagrid's hut. When I see the backs of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, I realize, to my discontent, that we must be having these classes with the Slytherins. Oh, goody, more time with them...

Hagrid is waiting for us outside his cabin. He's wearing his moleskin overcoat, and has Fang at his heels. He looks very impatient to start. I smile upon seeing him. He really is so excited to teach.

"C'mon now, get a move on," he calls, as the class approaches. "Got a real treat fer yeh today! Great lesson comin' up! Everyone here? Righ', follow me!"

For one horrible moment, I think that Hagrid's leading us into the Forbidden Forest. When Hagrid strolls off around the edges of the trees, I sigh in relief. I've had enough unpleasant experiences in there for a lifetime. Five minutes later, we find ourselves in a sort of empty paddock.

"Everyone gather 'round the fence here," Hagrid calls. "That's it - make sure yeh can see - now, firs' thing yeh'll want ter do is open yer books-"

"How?" the cold voice of Malfoy drawls.

"What?" Hagrid asks in confusion.

Clearly, he doesn't think books that attack us make it any less easier to open them.

"How do we open our books?" Malfoy repeats, and takes out his book, which he had tied together with a length of rope.

Other people take out there own. Some, like me, had taped theirs together with Spellotape. Others had belted theirs shut, crammed theirs in tight bags, or clamped them together with binder clips.

"Hasn' - hasn' ayone bin able ter open their books," Hagrid asks, looking crestfallen.

The class shakes their heads, me feeling slightly guilty, not looking at Hagrid's expression.

"Yeh've got  to stroke 'em," Hagrid informs us, as thought this should be obvious, "Look-"

Hagrid takes my book, and rips off the Spellotape that binds it together. The book tries to bite him, but Hagrid ran a giant finger down the spine. It shivers, then falls open and lays quietly on his hand.

"Oh, how silly we've all been," Malfoy sneers. "We should've stroked them! Why didn't we guess!"

"I - I thought they were funny," Hagrid says uncertainly to Hermione.

"Oh, tremendously funny," Malfoy says. "Really funny, getting us books that try and rip our heads off!"

"Shut it, you jumped up little git," I snap at Malfoy. Hagrid's looking downcast, and I want his first lesson to be successful.

"Righ' then," Hagrid says, with lost confidence, "so - s yeh've got yer books, and now yeh need the Magical Creatures. Yeah. So, I'll go and get 'em. Hang on..."

He strides away from us, into the forest and out of sight.

"God this place has gone to the dogs," Malfoy announces loudly. "That oaf teaching us, my father will have a fit when I tell him-"

"Yeah, too bad your daddy's been sacked from the Board of Governors, and can't do anything about it," I snap.

"Exactly, so shut up, Malfoy," Harry adds.

"Careful, Potter, there's a Dementor behind you-" Malfoy begins.

"Ooooooh!" Lavender squeals, pointing at the opposite end of the paddock.

Trotting toward us, are a dozen of the weirdest creatures I've ever seen in my life. They have the body, hind legs, and tail of a horse, but the front legs, wings, and heads of what seems to be giant eagles. The talons on their front legs are half a foot long and lethal-looking. Each of the creatures has a thick collar around its neck, which are attached to long chains, and Hagrid is holding the end of each in his massive hands.

"Gee up, there!" he roars, shaking the chain and urging the creatures toward the fence where the class stands. Everyone draws back as Hagrid reaches us, and tethers the creatures to the fence. "Hippogriffs! Beau'iful, aren't they?"

I suppose they are sort of beautiful. Once you get over the shock of seeing a giant half horse, half bird thing, you can appreciate the Hippogriffs gleaming coats, changing smoothly from feather to hair, each of them a different colour: stormy grey, bronze, pinkish roan, gleaming chestnut, and inky black.

"So," Hagrid begins, clapping his hands and rubbing them together, "if yeh want ter come a bit nearer..."

Nobody wants to go nearer. At all. Even though these Hippogriffs kind of terrify me, I cautiously approach the fence, along with Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"Firs' thing you ought to know about Hippogriffs, is that they're proud," Hagrid begins. "Easily offended, Hippogriffs are. Don't ever insult one, cause it may be the last thing yeh ever do."

I hear whispering and look behind me. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle aren't listening. They're talking in an undertone to one another, and I have the horrible feeling that they're thinking of how best to disturb the class.

"Yeh always wait for the Hippogriff ter make the firs' move," Hagrid continues, "it's polite, see? Yeh walks towards him, and yeh bow, an' yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh're allowed to touch him. If he doesn't, then get away from him sharpish, because those talons can hurt. Right - who wants ter go firs'?"

Most of the class backs away further as an answer. Even Harry, Ron, Hermione and I don't want to go. The Hippogriffs seem very impatient and fierce-looking; clearly they don't like being tied up like this.

"No one?" Hagrid asks pleadingly.

"I'll do it," Harry finally offers.

There's an intake of breath from behind us, and I turn around as both Lavender and Parvati whisper, "Oooh, no, Harry, remember your tea leaves!"

Harry ignores them. Who wouldn't? He climbs over the paddock fence.

"Good man, Harry!" Hagrid roars. "Righ', then - let's see how well you get on with Buckbeak."

He unties one of the chains, pulls the grey Hippogriff away from the others, and slips off its collar. On the other side of the paddock, we're all holding our breath. I'm crossing my fingers that he'll be all right. Malfoy's eyes are narrowed maliciously.

"Easy now, Harry," Hagrid says quietly. "Yeh've got to make eye contact, now try not to blink... Hippogriff's don' trust yeh if yeh blink too much."

Buckbeak turns his great, sharp head and stares at him with one fierce, orange eyes.

"Tha's it," Hagrid says, "tha's it, Harry, now bow..."

Reluctantly, he gives a short bow, then looks up. The Hippogriff doesn't move. It stares haughtily at him. Sounding worried, Hagrid suggests that Harry moves back, but at that moment, to my surprise and relief, the Hippogriff bends it scaly knees and sinks into what can't be mistaken as anything but a bow.

"Well done, Harry!" Hagrid roars. "Right - yeh can touch him! Pat his beak, go on!"

Harry moves slowly toward the Hippogriff, looking reluctant once more, and stretches out his hand toward it. He pats the beak several times, and the Hippogriff closes its eyes lazily, as if enjoying itself. The class - except for Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle - breaks into applause.

"Righ' then, Harry, I reckon he might let you ride him now!" Hagrid says, looking ecstatic, and my eyes widen.

Riding on a Hippogriff, where you can easily fall? Something that can kill you with one scratch? High in the sky, with it in complete control of what happens to you? Bloody hell, that sounds wicked!

"Yeh climb up there, jus' behind the wing join," Hagrid explains, "an' mind yeh don' pull any of the feathers out, he won' like that."

Harry hoists himself up onto Buckbeak's back. Buckbeak stands up. Wait a minute. If he can't pull on any of its feathers, where is he supposed to hold on? Everything in front of Harry must be covered in feathers.

"Go on, then," Hagrid shouts, slapping the Hippogriffs hindquarters.

Without warning, Buckbeak's running to give himself a running start. Harry has just enough time to throw his arms around Buckbeak's neck, before he takes off into the air. Damn, Harry is so lucky. I'd love to be in his place. Buckbeak disappears into the sky.

About five minutes later, they return, and, once again, the entire class breaks out into applause. Hagrid helps Harry down, and praises his good work. Once Hagrid asks if anyone else wants to go, the entire class cautiously enters the paddock, emboldened by Harry's success. Hagrid unties the Hippogriffs one by one, and soon the entire class is bowing nervously. Neville ran repeatedly backward from his Hippogriff, which didn't seem to want to bow back to him.

Ron, Hermione and I are practising on the chestnut one, while Harry watches. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle have taken over Buckbeak. Buckbeak has bowed to Malfoy, who's now patting his beak, looking disdainful. Poor Buckbeak, being stuck with those gits.

"This is very easy," Malfoy drawls, loud enough for Harry to hear, "I knew it must've been, if Potter could do it... I bet you're not dangerous at all," he added to Buckbeak. "Are you, you great, ugly brute."

It happens in a flash. Malfoy lets out a high-pitched scream, and next moment, Hagrid's wrestling Buckbeak back to his collar, as he strained to get at Malfoy, who lay curled in the grass, blood soaking his robes.

"I'm dying!" Malfoy yells, as the class starts panicking. "I'm dying, look at me! It's killed me!"

"Yer not dyin'!" a very pale Hagrid insists. "Someone help me - gotta get him outta here."

Hermione runs to open the gate, as Hagrid picks up Malfoy without effort. As they pass, I see the long, deep gash on Malfoy's arm. Blood splatters the grass, and Hagrid runs with Malfoy in his arms, up the slope to the castle.

Very shaken, the Care of Magical Creatures class follows at a walk. The Slytherins are all shouting about how horrible Hagrid is.

"They should sack him right away!" Pansy Parkinson shouts, tear-stricken.

"It was Malfoy's fault!" Dean snaps, and Crabbe and Goyle flex their muscles threateningly.

"Dean's right!" I add defensively. "The first thing Hagrid told us about Hippogriffs is that they're proud, and he warned us not to insult them! It's Malfoy's fault if he didn't listen!"

Every Slytherin glares at me, and I just raise my eyebrows and glare back in response. We climb up the stone steps into the Entrance Hall. Parkinson runs to see if Malfoy's okay, and we watch her run up the marble staircase. The rest of the Slytherins, still muttering about Hagrid, walk downstairs to their dungeon in the common room. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I proceed to the Gryffindor common room.

"Do you think Malfoy'll be all right?" Hermione asks nervously.

"Of course," I reply immediately.

"Madam Pomfrey has mended worse than that in a heartbeat," Harry adds.

"That was a really bad thing to happen in Hagrid's first class, though, wasn't it?" Ron pipes up. "Trust Malfoy to mess things up for him..."

At dinner, Hagrid isn't there. They can't have sacked him, can they? At the Slytherin table, Crabbe, Goyle, and a few others are muttering to one another. It's clear they're making up their own version of how Malfoy got injured. So Hagrid'll get fired! Those prats!

Once back in the common room, we try to do that homework McGonagall assigned us, but we keep getting distracted by thoughts of Hagrid.

"There's a light at Hagrid's window!" Harry says suddenly.

"If we hurry, we can do down and see him. It's still quite early," Ron points out, checking his watch.

"I don't know..." Hermione says uncertainly, glancing at Harry.

"I'm allowed to walk across the grounds," Harry counters proudly. "Sirius Black hasn't gotten past the Dementors yet..."

So we put our things away, and head down to the Entrance Hall, glad that we don't run into anybody, as we're not completely sure that we're allowed to be out and about right now.

When we reach Hagrid's hut, a low voice growls, "C'min."

Hagrid's sitting in his shirtsleeves at his scrubbed wooden table. Fang has his head in Hagrid's lap. It's obvious that Hagrid's been drinking a lot. There's a pewter tankard the size of a bucket, and he seems to be having difficulty getting us into focus.

"'Spect it's a record," Hagrid tells us thickly, once he recognizes us. "Don' reckon they've ever had a teacher that lasted on'y a day before."

"You haven't been fired, Hagrid!" Hermione gasps.

"Not yet," Hagrid says miserably. "But it's on'y a matter of time, i'n't, after Malfoy..."

"How is he?" Ron asks. "Is it serious?"

"Madam Pomfrey fixed him up best as he could," Hagrid answers. "But he's still sayin' he's in agony."

"He's faking," I tell him immediately.

"Exactly, trust Malfoy to milk it for all it's worth," Harry adds.

Hagrid miserably informs us that the School Governors have been informed. They reckon he shouldn't have started so big. He should've started with Flobberworms or something, whatever those are.

"It's all Malfoy's fault, Hagrid!" Hermione protests earnestly.

"We're witnesses," Harry adds. "You said that Hippogriffs attack when you insult them. It's Malfoy's problem that he didn't listen! We'll tell Dumbledore what happened."

"Yeah, don't worry, we'll back you up," Ron adds, and I nod earnestly.

Tears leak out of Hagrid's beetle black eyes. He grabs both Harry and Ron, and pulls them into what looks to be a bone-crushing hug. Hermione and I are out of it because we're out of his reach.

"I think you've had enough to drink, Hagrid," Hermione informs him firmly, takes the tankard from the table, and goes outside to empty it.

"Ah, maybe she's right," Hagrid says, letting go of Harry and Ron, who stagger away, rubbing their ribs.

He heaves himself out of his chair, and follows Hermione unsteadily outside. Harry, Ron and I hear a rather loud splash.

"What's he done?" Harry asks nervously as Hermione comes back with the empty tankard.

"Stuck his head in the water bucket," Hermione answers, putting the tankard away.

Hagrid comes back, his long hair and beard soaking wet, wiping water out of his eyes.

"That's better," he informs us, shaking his head like a dog, and getting us all soaking wet. "Listen, it was good fer yeh to come an' see me, I really-"

He stops dead, looking at Harry as though he only just realized that he's there.

"WHAT D'YEH THINK YER DOING, EH?" he roars, so loudly and unexpectedly that we all jump a foot in the air, "YEH'RE NOT TO GO WANDERIN' AROUND AFTER DARK, HARRY! AN' YOU THREE, LETTIN' HIM!"

Hagrid strides over to Harry, grabs his arm, and pulls him to the door.

"C'mon," the former says angrily. "I'm takin' yeh all back up ter the castle an' don' let me catch yeh walkin' down ter see me after dark again. I'm not worth that!"

And with that, we all exit Hagrid's hut. Clearly, Hagrid thinks that Sirius Black is after Harry, too. What else could all that be about?


	11. Faulty Rumours and the Confession

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Eleven: Faulty Rumours and the Confession**

 

The next day, during dinner, I'm with Hermione and Ginny, when Lavender and Parvati approach me. I expect they're going to ask me if Harry's doing all right, since they still think that he's going to die at any given moment. They've take to speaking to Harry in a hushes whisper, as though talking to him on his death bed.

"Hazel! Why didn't you tell us?!" Parvati squeals.

"Tell you what?" I ask in confusion.

"Oh, don't play dumb," Lavender giggles.

"Um, I'm not," I say. "I honestly haven't a clue what you're talking about."

"You know," Parvati says, giggling.

"No, I don't, so please tell me or this conversation will get nowhere," I tell them, before taking a sip of my pumpkin juice.

"Why didn't you tell us you were seeing Fred?!" Lavender blurts out.

I choke on my pumpkin juice in surprise. I'm just sitting in my seat, having a choking fit, while Ginny, Hermione, Parvati, and Lavender all sit or stand there in utter confusion of my behaviour. Finally, Ginny starts thumping my back to help me choking problem. When I'm finally okay, I speak.

"What?!" I exclaim.

"You're seeing Fred! Why didn't you tell us?" Parvati asks.

"Hm, maybe because I'm not!" I snap. "I don't even like Fred that way. And he doesn't like me in that way. So, why the  _hell_ would you say something as ridiculous as that?"

"Because you are! We heard you and Hermione talking about it in Divination," Lavender explains, and I glower over at Hermione before turning my attention back to Lavender. "But we've been so caught up with homework and everything, we didn't have time to talk to you about it. I don't get why you would have to keep it a secret."

"Listen," I tell them sternly. "Fred and I are just friends. That's all we've ever been, and that's all we'll ever be, all right?"

"If that's true, why were you talking about Fred when Hermione found that heart in your cup?" Parvati questions.

"It was a joke!" I exclaim. "She was just teasing!"

"Then why would she pick Fred specifically?" Lavender argues.

"Because that's Hermione's style," I invent wildly, not wanting them to know about Hermione's theory about Fred and I. "I dunno, why don't you ask her?"

"That's just the first person I thought of," Hermione lies, seeing how unhappy I am.

"Doubt it. Why don't I just go and ask Fred, then?" Parvati asks, smirking.

"NO!" I yell, so loudly that everyone in vicinity turns to stare at me. I smile sheepishly and go on, quieter this time. "There's no need to bring Fred into this."

"Why not? He is your boyfriend, after all," Lavender points out, smirking.

"For Merlin's sake, for the last time, he is not my boyfriend!" I snap.

"Who isn't your boyfriend?" a horribly familiar voice asks.

I can feel myself turn as red as the Gryffindor flag. I wait until most of my blush subsides, then turn around. My theory is right. Fred Weasley is looking back at me, his expression curious and playful.

"Er - it's um - you see - er," I begin.

"Oh, just spit it out, Hazey," he says, grinning. "Oh, let me guess, Harry?"

"So you finally figured out that I don't like him!" I tease, glad for the change in subject. "Congratulations, Freddie."

"No, I don't think so," Fred replies, smirking. "I'm just mocking you."

"Git," I mumble.

"Oh, stop playing dumb, you two!" Lavender says in exasperation.

"It's obvious that you-" Parvati begins, but I cut her off.

"Fred, can I talk to you for a second?" I ask.

"Sure, talk," Fred says, gesturing for me to speak.

"I mean alone, genius," I tell him, rolling my eyes.

"All right," Fred replies, looking confused. "Come on, then."

I stand up, grab his wrist, and drag him out of the Great Hall. Glancing back, I can see Hermione and Ginny giving me good luck looks, and Lavender and Parvati waggling their eyebrows. I smile at Hermione and Ginny, and roll my eyes at Lavender and Parvati.

"So, what's up?" Fred asks, once in a nearby broom cupboard. "What's so important that you couldn't bring it up in front of all them?"

"Okay, Fred, whether it's from Lavender and Parvati, or someone else - God knows how quickly they can spread rumours - but, someone's going to ask you either if we're going out, or if you fancy me. Just to let you know now, that wasn't from me. I didn't star that!"

"Wait, what? Where the hell would someone get the idea we're seeing each other?" Fred asks.

"Er - well, you see - it was during Divination, and-"

"Let me guess, Trelawney predicted out loud that we're together and have been keeping it a secret?" Fred says, grinning.

I laugh and say. "You'd think, but no. You see, during Divination, we were reading tea leaves, and Hermione saw a heart in mine-"

"I have a bad feeling I know where this is going..." Fred mutters.

"Hermione saw a heart in mine," I continue, blushing a bit. "and, because she's Hermione and is under the insane idea that we should go out, she loudly announced 'Oh, Hazel, maybe this is with Fred!' and-"

"Was she actually loud? Hermione doesn't seem like a loud person," Fred interrupts.

"Dammit, Fred, quit interrupting me so we can get this story done and go back into the Great Hall that way Lavender and Parvati don't think we're shagging or something," I snap.

"They probably think we're snogging right now," Fred points out.

"I'd rather them think we're snogging than shagging," I counter.

"Touché, go on," Fred says.

"Thank you. So, anyway, she wasn't really that loud, but considering what she was saying, she was practically shouting." I explain. "I thought nobody heard, but apparently Lavender and Parvati did. Not that surprising, I guess, considering that they were right in front of us. I'm more surprised Harry and Ron didn't hear, since we were at the same bloody table."

"They must be deaf," Fred mumbles.

"Probably," I agree. "So, now you're all caught up. I just thought it'd be better if you heard it from me, rather than from someone else."

"Right. You know, maybe this rumour isn't much of a bad thing," Fred points out, smirking devilishly. Damn him and his attractiveness.

"What? Of course it is!" I exclaim in disbelief. "Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil think we're together. D'you know how quickly they can spread that?"

"Which is exactly what's good about it. Maybe we can just play along," Fred explains, smirking broader now.

"I beg your pardon?" I say.

"Hazey," Fred says, slightly exasperated. "Don't you see? We can play along and say that we are going out, just to see their reactions. We should probably make it seem like we're getting serious, too, to freak them out."

"No," I refuse bluntly, "I am  _so_ not doing that."

"Oh, come on, please, Hazey," Fred pleads. "It'll be fun."

"Absolutely not," I say.

"Please," Fred begs.

"No," I insist.

"Please," Fred pleads.

"No," I repeat.

"But it'll be hilarious!" he insists. "Think about their reactions! It'll be priceless!"

"Not really, they already think we're going out," I point out.

"But they expect us to deny it, so it'll be hilarious when we 'confess'," Fred counters.

"But-" I begin, but Fred cuts me off.

"Oh, what's so bad about doing it?" he asks. "I mean, it's not like we're really going out, or fancy each other, right?"

I stare at him blankly. Do I fancy him? That dream... why would I enjoy that if I don't like him? Why would I picture him as a good kisser? Why would I have that dream in the first place? What about when I hugged him? Or when I grabbed his wrist just then? But I can't fancy him. He's one of my best friends. It'd be too awkward. No. No, I don't like him. Even if I did, what would I say? 'Uh, no, actually, I do fancy you!' that would completely  _ruin_ our friendship. It's clear he doesn't like me.

"No," I tell him firmly. "We don't, and we're not."

"Exactly!" Fred exclaims. "So, what's the harm?"

"Well, I mean-" I begin.

"Please!" he begs. "It'll be brilliant."

"Fred? Hazel? What the hell are you two doing in there?" the voice of George rings out, opening the door.

"Probably snogging some more," Lee Jordan teases, smirking.

"Come again?" George asks. "Hazel and Fred? Are you serious?"

"No, of course not, but there's a rumour going around that they're together," Lee explains.

"Oh, I see. Well, now that I think about it, the bit that we heard did sound like Fred was begging for sex," George points out. Lee Jordan bursts into hysterical fits of laughter. What gits. Blushing a bit, I lean against the door frame, and wait for Lee to shut up.

"Now that you mention it, it did sound like that!" Lee agrees, once he calms down enough to speak.

"Excellent! I hope someone else heard!" Fred exclaims excitedly, then adds to me. "Then you'll  _have_ to play along, otherwise everyone'll think you're a slut!"

I give him a murderous sort of look, while George and Lee look completely confused. I take it upon myself to explain.

"Fred wants me to act like we're together, to mess with everyone," I explain simply.

"Oh, that'd be brilliant!" Lee exclaims.

"And you  _don't_ want to do that, Hazel?" George asks in disbelief. "I expected better of you!"

"I'd just rather not prance around and act like I'm in love with you," I tell Fred. "We'd have to kiss, too, which would be icky and weird."

"Ah, grow up," Fred says. "I'll have you know many girls would kill to be in your place."

"Okay. Either you're lying, delusional, or said girls are blind, deaf, mental, or have horrible judgement." I tease.

"Hurtful, especially since you're my girlfriend," Fred retorts loudly, clearly hoping that someone heard.

"Am not, nor will I ever be, Weasley," I refuse.

"Oh, just play along, already," George snaps.

"Please," Lee adds, as though this should convince me.

They all give me pleading looks. It's not very convincing, but it's so hilarious, that I have to say yes.

"All right, fine, I'll do it," I accept grudgingly. "But only for a while, then we have to fake breakup."

The boys all cheer, and Fred picks me up and spins me around.

"Yes, yes, I know, I'm amazing," I say. "Now, put me down, I want to go eat."

"Of course you do," George says, laughing, as Fred puts me down. "You eat a lot. I hope you know that."

I stick my tongue out at him, and say, "I do know that, thank you very much!"

I'm about to race off into the Great Hall, when Fred grabs my wrist.

"Hazey, that's not very convincing," Fred sings.

"Ugh, fine," I mumble.

I intertwine my fingers with his, and we walk into the Great Hall. Once back at my original place, I smile, and wave with my free hand.

"That was an awfully long time for just talking," Lavender says, smirking.

"Lavender, look," Parvati says, pointing at our hands.

"I knew you were going out!" Lavender squeals.

"Yeah, I just denied it because he's my first boyfriend, so I was a tiny bit embarrassed," I admit.

"I suppose that makes sense," Parvati mumbles, smirking.

Fred and I sit down, and as we do, he lets go of my hand, and mumbles, "Nice one."

"Thanks, I try," I whisper, grinning.

He laughs a bit, and we start eating. After I stuff my face, I announce that I'm off to do my homework. Fred kisses my cheek, and waves. Okay. This is beyond weird. But oddly enjoyable... Oh, no, Hazel. Don't you start fancying him.

I hear footsteps behind me, and out of nowhere, Hermione and Ginny appear at either side of me. I smile casually at them.

"What's up?" I ask.

"You know very well what's up," Ginny says. "We need to talk."

Hermione leads the way to Gryffindor tower, across the common room, and into our dormitory. The moment she closes the door, she turns to face me expectantly.

"So? Why exactly are you pretending to go out with Fred?" Hermione asks.

"Fred wants me to. It's just another prank, really," I answer, shrugging and plopping onto my bed.

"Really?" Ginny asks. "And were you very willing to? Possibly because you fancy him."

"Oh, God, no. Not you too, Ginny!" I sigh.

"Sorry, Hazel, but you two are perfect for each other," she apologizes, shrugging and sitting down next to me.

"Well, I'll have you know, I was very reluctant to accept his request," I inform them matter-of-factly.

"Because you were afraid that your feelings for him would show through and he wouldn't like you back?" Hermione asks, smirking.

"I'll have you know that he doesn't like me back," I retort. "At all. So, it'd be a completely rational fear."

I don't know why I'm so upset at the fact that he doesn't fancy me. For whatever reason, saying it, confirming it, makes my heart shatter a bit.

"BACK! You said 'like me BACK'! So you do like him!"

"No! I don't! I don-" I insist.

"Why is it so bad to like him anyway? Why are you insisting that you don't, when you clearly do?" Hermione asks.

"Because he's my best friend!" I exclaim. "Do you know how weird that would be? It's just - just-"

Those two voices are having a massive argument inside my head. Even the small voice, which is usually quite calm, is shouting as loud as it can. I think I might get a migraine. Crazily enough, what the smaller voice is saying, makes more and more sense, and I start agreeing more and more. When the stubborn, louder voice starts to agree with it a bit, too, I want to slam my head against something. Then it clicks.

" _Oh, no_ ," the loud voice says.

" _Oh, yes. It's about time you realized it,_ " the small voice says.

"Oh, no. No, no, no, no." I say, walking over to a wall, and beginning to bang my head against it. "Not him, anyone but him."

"And the realization comes, at last," Hermione announces.

"It's about time," Ginny adds.

I turn around and see that they're smirking. I stare at them in disbelief.

"This isn't a good thing! Not only is he one of my best friends, but I have to pretend to date him, when in reality, he doesn't like me back! I have to live with fancying a guy who doesn't like me back!"

"Join the club," Ginny says, raising her eyebrows at me.

I suddenly remember that she fancies Harry, and feel like a giant prat.

"Gin, I'm so sorry, it's just that you act so outgoing, I forgot that you-"

"-act all shy whenever Harry's around," Ginny finishes. "Yeah, I get it."

"So, I've admitted it. I know he doesn't fancy me back. What not?" I ask.

"You get through it. And hope that he might like you back one day," Ginny replies, "I personally think that he'll realize you two are perfect for each other eventually."

"Thanks," I say, smiling slightly. "And if it means anything, I think Harry'll like you back someday. And I'm not just saying that. Take it from somebody who's been his best friend for eight years now. You're perfect for each other."

"Thanks, but I need to work on talking in front of him, otherwise he'll never know that." Ginny points out.

"An outgoing girl like you should be able to figure that out eventually," Hermione assures her. "Now, let's go do our homework."

"Ugh, fine," Ginny and I say, and we go downstairs to the common room to do work.

Weirdly enough, I end up finishing before Hermione. Maybe it's because I have less homework than her. I did some of my homework before dinner, and I got more accomplished yesterday, when we were all distracted about Hagrid. Not to mention, I don't have all that Muggle Studies homework. Since I'm really tired, I bid Ginny and Hermione goodnight, and go upstairs to my dormitory.

I change into my pyjamas, and find myself staring at the mirror. Look at me. Why would Fred like me, anyway? I may not be hideous, but I'm no face that would stand out in the crowd. There're so many prettier girls. I suppose there's personality to consider too. But that doesn't help me either. Fred would want to go for someone more interesting than me. I may not be endlessly dull, but I'm not endlessly fascinating. Let's not forget, he probably vies me as a sister.

I remember the words Fred told me. "It's not like we're really going out, or fancy each other, right?" I feel that same feeling of my heart shattering. Dammit, why do I have to like someone who doesn't like me back?

"Oh, no, Hazel, you are not about to cry," I tell myself sternly, as I feel tears brim at my eyes.

I blink them back determinedly. Then, I throw myself onto my bed, throw the curtains around me, and fall asleep, hoping that my dreams will make me forget for a while.


	12. The Boggart

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Twelve: The Boggart**

 

I wake up on Thursday morning, slightly better than I was before. Of course, it's a bit hard to be completely cheery when you have to go out with the guy you fancy, knowing full well that he doesn't fancy you back. Just a little, though. I get dressed, and go to breakfast.

During Potions, Malfoy returns to class. He swaggers into the dungeon, his arm in a sling, and, to me, looking like he's the survivor of a heroic battle, instead of a git who didn't listen to Hagrid. Git. He, of course, milks it for all it's worth. To both impress Pansy Parkinson - for reasons I will never understand - and to make sure that Harry, Ron and I practically do all this work for him, as he had sat right next to us.

After a failed attempt to torture Neville and taking an unfair five points from Gryffindor because Hermione helped Neville, Snape dismisses us. I'm not the least bit upset to leave.

After lunch, Hermione and I go to Ancient Runes. It's a very interesting subject. Not to mention, I'm quite good at it. But that's not why I like it. I just find the whole idea of translating weirdly shaped runes into actual English cool. Definitely one of my favourite subjects.

We have Defence Against the Dark Arts afterwards, so we have to use our Time-Turners. When we walk into the classroom, we see a wardrobe standing in the centre of the front of the room. It's rattling dangerously. Hermione and I exchange curious looks with one another, then hurry over next to the rest of the class.

"Intriguing, yes? Would anyone like to venture a guess at what it is?" Lupin asks, as Hermione and I push our way through to Ron and Harry.

"That's a Boggart, that is," Seamus replies in a hushed whisper.

"Very good, Mr. Finnigan," Lupin acknowledges, as we stop next to Ron. "Can anyone tell me what a Boggart looks like?"

"Nobody knows," Hermione replies, and Ron jumps.

"When'd they get here?" he asks, in a loud whisper, pointing at Hermione and I.

"Boggarts are shape-shifters," Hermione continues. "They take the shape of whatever a particular person fears most. That's what makes them so-"

"So terrifying, yes. Luckily, a very simple charm exists to repel Boggarts," Lupin informs us cheerfully. "Let's practice it now, shall we? Without wands, please...  _Riddikulus_!"

" _Riddikulus_!" the entire class echoes.

"It's this class that ridiculous," I vaguely hear Malfoy mutter.

"Good," Lupin acknowledges, seeming not to have heard Malfoy. "So much for the easy part. You see, the incantation alone is not enough. What really finishes a Boggart off is  _laughter_. You need to force it to assume the shape you find truly amusing. Neville, come up here, will you?"

Neville eyes the rattling wardrobe, then gives the room desperate looks, as though begging for someone to step up and help him. When he catches my eyes, I give him an encouraging smile, and gesture for him to go on. Looking reluctant and slightly queasy, he steps forward to stand beside Lupin.

"What would you say is the thing that frightens you most?" Lupin asks Neville.

Neville mumbles incoherent sounds that I can hardly hear.

"Didn't catch that, Neville, sorry," Lupin says.

"Professor Snape," Neville repeats in a louder voice.

We all laugh at that. Of course, it's understandable. Snape always gives Neville a horrible time, always ruining what little confidence he has left for himself. Lupin simply nods thoughtfully.

"Oh, yes, Professor Snape, he frightens all," Lupin mutters, and I laugh a bit more. "Hm... Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?"

"Yes, but I don't want it to turn into her, either," Neville replies quickly, and everyone laughs a little again.

"It won't," Lupin assures him. "But I want you to picture her clothes, only her clothes, very clearly in your mind. Can you do that?"

"She carries a red handbag," he mutter softly.

"That's fine, we don't need to hear it. If you see it, we will," Lupin explains gently. "Now, when I open this wardrobe, Neville, this is what I want you to do."

Lupin leans in and whispers something into Neville's ear. Neville's eyes pop open in shock, and considers Lupin nervously. Though, when Lupin gives him some encouragement, he nods and takes a deep breath.

"Right then. Wand at the ready, Neville," Lupin advises.

Lupin points his wand at the wardrobe. Sparks shoot out of his wand, hitting the doorknob, causing the wardrobe door to fly open. Instantly, Snape appears, stalking towards Neville, eyes glittering maliciously like they also do around Neville. Neville backs away in fright.

"Think, Neville, think!" Lupin insists.

" _R-r-riddikulus_!" Neville cries, pointing his wand at Boggart-Snape.

With a cracking sound, Snape disappears in a flash of light, and reappears looking completely ridiculous. He's in a long, lace trimmed dress; a towering, moth eaten hat with a stuffed vulture on it; and a crimson handbag. The entire class - except for the Slytherins - burst out laughing. Neville blinks, amazing with himself, then slowly grins to himself. Lupin drops the needle on what I think is an old Gramophone, and immediately, some fast, jazzy sort of music begins to play. I think that's to lighten the mood. Lupin points at Ron, and Ron steps forward, looking both nervous and excited.

Boggart-Snape dissolves in a swirl as soon as Ron approaches, and instantly transforms into a giant, hairy spider. Harry, Hermione and I exchange uncertain glances, knowing how much Ron is afraid of spiders. At least it's no Aragog again.

" _Ridikulus_!" Ron cries, and, with another crack, roller skates materialize on the spider's hairy legs, and begins shuffling clumsily.

Instantly, Ron relaxes at the sound of the entire class laughing. Parvati steps forward next, and the spider turns into a vampire. Parvati looks terrified for a moment, then points his wand at the vampire, cries " _Riddikulus_!" and the next moment, the vampire is dressed like Carmen Miranda. As the vampire begins to shimmy - against its will - the class starts clapping to egg it on. I'm in tears from laughing so hard.

"Mr. Thomas!" Lupin calls, smiling proudly at the class.

As Dean steps forward, looking excited, the vampire turns into a giant cobra, hissing dangerously. But Dean turns it into Jack-In-The-Box with a quick cry of, " _Riddikulus_!"

"Next!" Lupin calls.

Harry steps forward eagerly. Hm. I wonder what Harry's most afraid of. Voldemort? Maybe. That reminds me, what am  _I_ most afraid of? I've never thought of it. Maybe it's Voldemort. I think it might be losing everyone I lose. So, pretty much, losing all my best friends. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George... I don't even know what I'd do if one of them died... I guess I'll find out what I'm most afraid of soon enough.

A look of concern washes over Lupin's face at the realization that it's Harry's turn to go up. Why? I'm sure Harry can handle a Boggart, considering he's faces Voldemort twice, and killed a giant Basilisk last year. The Jack-In-The-Box faces Harry, its face becoming more and more sinister, it starts to transform, when Lupin suddenly jumps in the way. What the hell is that about? Why does Lupin not think Harry can handle a Boggart? The Boggart turns into a silvery-white orb hanging in the air in front of Lupin, who says, almost lazily, " _Riddikulus_!"

With a crack, the Boggart turns into a cockroach, and Lupin calls Neville back to finish it off. Looking determined, and much more confident, Neville walks forward, and faces the Boggart. It turns into Snape again, but immediately, Neville shouts, " _Riddikulus_!" and we have a split second's view of Boggart-Snape's lacy dress before the Boggart explodes.

"Excellent!" Lupin cries, as the class bursts into applause.

After awarding everyone who participated in defeating the Boggart, Lupin dismisses us. Everyone's cheerfully buzzing about what an amazing lesson we've just had. It really was the best Defence Against the Dark Arts class we've ever had.

"I wonder why Professor Lupin's afraid of crystal balls?" Lavender wonders thoughtfully.

Crystal balls? Seriously? Lavender thinks Professor Lupin is most afraid of  _crystal_   _balls_? I'd say that silvery orb is more of a moon than a crystal ball. Though, that's still a bit suspicious. Why would he be afraid of that, whether it's a crystal ball or a full moon?

"That was a very good lesson," Hermione says approvingly. "But I wish I had got to have a go with the Boggart-"

"What would it have been for you?" Ron asks, sniggering. "A piece of homework that only got 9 out of 10?"

I take a deep breath to stifle my laughter. She'd kill me if I laughed at that.


	13. I Know What I Must Do... In the Name of Best Friend-Ness

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Thirteen: I Know What I Must Do... In the Name of Best Friend-Ness**

 

In no time at all, Defence Against the Dark Arts became the favourite class of almost everyone. The exception was Malfoy and the other Slytherins, who would talk maliciously about him and things about him, like the state of his robes whenever he walked by. But nobody else cares that his robes are patched and frayed, because he is without a doubt the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had.

Our next lessons probe to be as interesting as the first. After Boggarts, we move onto Red Caps, which are nasty goblin-like creatures that lurk wherever there is bloodshed, waiting to bludgeon the lost. After Red Caps, we start studying Kappas, which are creepy water-dwellers that look like scaly monkeys, with webbed hands that are itching to strangle unwitting wanderers.

If only all of my other classes were that great. Ancient Runes is still amazing, as is Charms, Transfiguration, and most other old subjects. But Potions is worse than ever, considering Snape is being meaner than ever. It's obviously because of the whole Boggart incident. He, obviously, doesn't find him with Neville's grandmother's clothes very funny at all, since he's bullying Neville more than ever.

Divination is also getting more and more annoying. I just can't like Professor Trelawney, with her glasses that make her eyes too big, and her way of tearing up whenever she sees Harry, and how she acts like she knows everything that will happen in the future. Parvati and Lavender, however, have taken to haunting her tower during lunch, and always come back down with smirks of maddening superiority. Idiots. They clearly don't know it's all a load of rubbish.

Also, Care of Magical Creatures has gotten really dull after our exciting, action-packed first lesson. Hagrid has really lost his confidence, and has stopped trying to make our lessons the least bit exciting. We now spend lesson after boring lesson studying Flobberworms, which has to be the most boring creature in the history of the world.

At the start of October, only one thing makes up for my rather unsatisfactory classes. Quidditch. Oliver Wood calls a meeting on the first Thursday of October to discuss tactics.

"This is our last chance - my last chance - to win the Quidditch Cup," Oliver begins, pacing up and down the change room. "I'll be leaving after this year. I'll never get another shot at it.

"Gryffindor hasn't won for seven years now. Okay, so we've had the worst luck in the world - injuries - the tournament being called off last year. But we've also got the best - ruddy - team - in - the - school," he insists, punching his fist into his other hand, that old fanatical glint back in his eyes. "We've got three superb Chasers."

He points at Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson and I. I smile a bit at his praise, slightly embarrassed.

"We've got two unbeatable Beaters," Oliver continues.

"Stop it, Oliver, you're embarrassing us," Fred and George insist at the same time, pretending to blush. I let out a tiny laugh.

"And we've got a Seeker who's never failed to win us a match!" Oliver goes on, glaring at Harry with a kind of furious pride. "And me." he adds as an afterthought.

"We think you're very good too, Oliver," George assures him.

"Cracking Keeper," Fred adds.

"The point is," Oliver continues, "the Quidditch Cup should've been ours two years in a row. Every since Harry joined the team - and last year, Hazel - I thought we had this thing in the bag. But we haven't, and this is my last year to finally see our name's on the thing..."

Oliver looks so bloody dejected that even Fred and George look sympathetic. Which, I can assure you, most definitely isn't something you see everyday.

"Oliver, this is our year," Fred says.

"We'll do it, Oliver," Angelina adds.

"Definitely," Harry confirms.

Full of determination, we start practising three nights a week. The weather was getting colder and wetter, and the nights darker, but no type of weather could damped my goal of winning the Quidditch Cup this year.

After one particularly cold and damp practice, Harry and I enter the common room, cold and stiff, but pleased at the way practice had gone. The common room is buzzing excitedly.

"What's happened?" Harry asks Ron and Hermione, who are sitting on the best chairs by the fire and working on Astronomy.

"First Hogsmeade trip this Halloween," Ron replies.

"Excellent, I'm running low on Dungbombs," Fred says excitedly.

I glance at Harry, and see that he's a lot more upset than he was two seconds ago when he didn't know about Hogsmeade. Ron convinces him to ask McGonagall for permission, much to Hermione's disapproval. Even though I know McGonagall'll say no, I encourage Harry to ask as well.

The next day, after Transfiguration, after all the other Gryffindors had given their permission slips to Professor McGonagall, Harry asks whether she can give permission for him. Despite vigorous encouragement from Ron and I, McGonagall refuses to give him permission. As Harry had told McGonagall that Vernon didn't give him permission, there's no chance to forge his signature, either, which I actually know pretty well. I've sneaked around Number 4 Privet Drive a few times, looking for - well, things you don't really need to know about - and found his signature several times.

No amount of consoling could make Harry feel any better about not being allowed to go to Hogsmeade. Percy Weasley is absolutely no help whatsoever. No surprise there.

"People make too much fuss over it, really," Percy says. "I suppose Honeydukes is rather nice, and the Shrieking Shack is worth a visit, but frankly, Zonkos is just dangerous, and everything else gets a bit old after a while."

Did he really expect that to be of any help at all? If he did, then he's delusional. The days go by, and soon it's the night before our Hogsmeade trip. The night before Halloween. Poor Harry. He's going to be the only one in our entire  _year_ who's not going to be able to go. The only one who won't be able to see Honeydukes, Zonko's, the Shrieking Shack, and everywhere else. Unless, of course, someone with permission decided not to go. But who'd want to miss out on everything?

I wake surprisingly early, considering that it's me. 8:00. Still a little groggy, I get ready, and walk down the spiralling staircase quietly, seeing as a few people are still asleep. Surprisingly, Hermione is among them. I'll give her a little longer to sleep.

I open the door to the common room, and see Harry sitting alone by the fire. Instantly, I feel horribly guilty. I know he'd be a lot happier if he was with a friend, rather than being alone. Yet I refuse to, because I want to get some pranking stuff and candy, and see some tourist attraction? Yes, Harry is probably too noble to have me stay behind, but, hell, I'm so stubborn that I doubt I would probably listen to his nobility. And that's when I know exactly what I have to do.

"Heyo, Harry," I say cheerfully, plopping down on the armchair beside him.

"Hazel? You're awake? Without help from Hermione? Or is she just still getting ready?" Harry says in disbelief.

"I find that to be offending, since I woke up all by myself!" I say defensively.

"Sure you did," Harry teases.

"Now you're just being rude," I retort, laughing.

"Hey, Hazel, do me a favour?" Harry asks suddenly.

"Sure, anything," I reply.

"Bring me back something from Hogsmeade," Harry requests.

"I would," I begin, "but that'd be a little difficult, seeing as I'm not going."

"What? Why not? Have you gotten detention?" Harry asks.

"You'd think, but no," I answer matter-of-factly. "I've decided that if my best friend isn't going, neither am I."

"But-" Harry protests.

"Look, I'm staying here either way. So you can either complain and be by yourself, or be cheerful and we can hang out," I interrupt.

"Well, I mean-" Harry begins.

"Drop it, Harry," I advise him stubbornly.

"Fine," he says grudgingly.

"Thank you," I say cheerfully. "I should go wake Hermione now."

"Yeah, I should probably wake Ron up, too," Harry decides. "See you in a bit."

"See you," I say cheerfully, and head back upstairs.

I bound up the steps two at a time, and just when I'm about to fall over, I remember that most of Gryffindor tower is asleep, and crashing to the floor will be a bit of a rude awakening. I start flapping my arms like a maniac, trying to get my balance. The second before I fall over, I regain my balance, and manage to straighten up. Well, that's a relief. I tiptoe the rest of the way upstairs, and quietly enter my dormitory.

I walk around the room as quietly as I can, until I reach Hermione's bed. I start shaking her gently, not expecting this to wake her up. So I jump about a foot in the air when her eyes fly open immediately.

"Bloody hell, Hermione!" I half whisper, half yell. "I didn't think you were such a light sleeper!"

"We're not all heavy sleepers like you, Hazel," Hermione points out, getting up and not looking the least bit tired.

"Damn, are all the Grangers light sleepers?" I ask, imagining a world where everyone gets up at the crack of dawn and does school work, or dentist stuff, in Mr. and Mrs. Granger's case.

"Pretty much, yeah," Hermione answers. "Speaking of which, I'm quite surprised that you've woken up, not only without my help, but before me."

"I can wake up early... sometimes..." I say defensively.

"Apparently. I've underestimated your ability to wake up in the morning," Hermione says in a mock-serious voice.

"Yes you have, it really hurt my feelings," I inform her sarcastically, pretending to look like I'm in pain.

"Oh, well, I'm terribly sorry," she says, smiling slightly, before getting dressed.

When she's finally ready, we walk over to the door. Just as we make it, we hear movement behind us. Turning around, we realize that it's Lavender starting to wake.

"Come on, Mione, quickly, before she sees me," I say, pushing her slightly to hurry her.

"Why so pushy?" Hermione asks, smirking, once in the corridor with the doors to the dormitories.

"You know very well why," I snap. "Whenever Lavender or Parvati see me they start giggling and whispering and I can't take it! Don't even get me started when they see me and Fred together! Ugh!"

"Well, they act like that because you two act like a couple," Hermione points out. "And they aren't much different than the rest of the school."

"Mione, you're supposed to agree with me, so I can continue to ran about them!" I whine, pouting.

"Sorry, I'm only saying..." Hermione says.

I stick my tongue out at her, and we walk down the spiral steps. She's right, of course. The fact that Fred and I act like a pretty convincing couple is going to do nothing but encourage Lavender and Parvati to whisper and giggle. News about mine and Fred's 'relationship' has spread like wildfire, and in a matter of days, the entire school knew. Lavender and Parvati spread the word to every Gryffindor, and they told Parvati's sister, Padma, and Padma seemed to have told the entire Ravenclaw table. Ravenclaws and Gryffindors told Hufflepuff friends, and they told their fellow Hufflepuffs. Those who weren't at dinner were quickly caught up by friends. As for how the Slytherins found out, I'm assuming that they heard snatches of conversation about the topic, and managed to gather enough information to figure it all out. So now the whole school knows.

Comment now follow me from wherever I go. They range from "You go, girl!" to "Filthy slut!". The last is from the girls who fancy Fred. Girls who are so much prettier than me, might I add. I bet Fred actually fancies one of them. Why fancy me, when he could have one of them? Anyway, I'd say the worst comes from Malfoy.

"I suppose it's not a huge surprise that you have a thing for filthy, poor blood-traitors," he'd announce loudly whenever he saw the two of us together, "someone with as a pathetic personality as yours, I would expect your standards can't be too high. Though, I'll admit, I always thought it'd be Potter..."

I'd usually have to drag Fred away to make sure that he doesn't tackle Malfoy. He's not worth a week of detentions. Those can be earned by better things. More productive and effective things. Such as pranking. Me reminding him of that works better than just saying "It's not worth it."

All in all, I really don't like fake going out with Fred. This is without mentioning that I actually do fancy him, while this is all just a stupid little game to him. I'd prefer it if we weren't doing this. Because this is reminding me exactly what could happen, but never will. Why can't we just fake breakup already?

"Finally!" Ron says in exasperation, when we arrive at the common room.

"Good morning to you too," Hermione and I greet at the same time, eyebrows raised.

"Why do girls take so bloody long to get ready?" Ron asks,

"Hey, don't blame me!  _I_ was waiting for Hermione," I insist.

"You're supposed to defend me," Hermione protests, mocking my voice.

"I sound nothing like that!" I protest, laughing. "And now we're even, anyway."

"Ugh, can we just go to breakfast, I'm hungry!" Ron exclaims.

"When are you not hungry, Ronald?" I ask.

He just shrugs, and Harry, Hermione and I exchange both exasperated and amused looks. Ronald. Good old Ronald. You gotta love him. Hermione in more ways than one... With that, we exit the common room and head down to the Great hall for breakfast.


	14. Halloween

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Fourteen: Halloween**

 

Once at breakfast, Ron piles his plate with as much food as possible, and begins stuffing his face right away. I shake my head at him, laughing. I start putting food on my own plate, when someone covers my eyes.

"Guess who?" a familiar voice asks.

"Hm... could it possible be Fred Weasley?" I say in mock-cluelessness.

"Nope," Fred replies simply, uncovering my eyes, and sitting down next to me.

"Liar!" I declare dramatically.

"Well, I'm terribly sorry," he says in a mock-apologetic voice, sitting down beside me and kissing my cheek.

At that moment, an annoyingly gorgeous Ravenclaw student with long blonde hair and sparkly blue eyes walks past. She looks at Fred and I, and sends me a dirty look. So, she's one of his fangirls as well. Damn her and her prettiness, then. In return, I raise my eyebrows at her and give her a look that says, "Yup, he's mine." She storms out of the Great Hall. Hey, maybe this fake dating thing can have benefits for me, after all.

"What was that about?" Fred asks.

I stare at him in disbelief. The stupidity and blindness of boys is shocking. Does he not know that he has gorgeous girls who absolutely adore him? Well, what he doesn't know can't hurt him. Or, at least, me. Oh God. I'm a horrible person. I should be happy if Fred's happy. Even if it's not with me. I sigh, and look him dead in the eye.

"It's just one of your fangirls. One of your prettier ones, might I add," I inform him, adding the last part under my breath.

"Wait, I have fangirls?" Fred asks, looking around for the Ravenclaw hopefully.

Burning jealously fills every single damn fibre of my being. The look on Fred's face. That adorable, hopeful little smile, directed at someone that isn't me. Trying to find someone that isn't me, clearly hoping that he can find her. Why can't that be me? If Hermione's right, and we are so bloody perfect for each other, why is he looking around trying to find that Ravenclaw, when I'm right here?

"Yeah, you do," I confirm, without emotion. "But if you want to keep this joke going, I don't reckon you should go off and start snogging other girls. Unless, of course, you'd like to break up."

"Nah, not yet," Fred says, shaking his head, and laughing a little at my hopefulness.

"Brilliant," I say dully, and begin eating.

After breakfast, Fred and George go off to meet with Lee, and Harry and I go to see Ron and Hermione off in the Entrance Hall.

"We'll bring you back some candy," Hermione assures us, looking desperately sorry for us.

"Yeah, loads," Ron insists.

It seems like Ron and Hermione have forgotten their differences in order to be sympathetic to us. We assure them it's all right, and wave them goodbye. Since they were last in line, we look around the now empty Entrance Hall.

"So, what should we do now?" I ask Harry.

"Let's just go walk around for a bit," Harry answers. "Most people are in their common rooms, so it'll be pretty empty. It'll be nice to be able to walk through the corridors without everyone rushing around, or trying not to be caught under an Invisibility Cloak in the middle of the night."

"True," I agree, laughing."Let's just hope that we don't get lost. Two years at Hogwarts, and two years of sneaking around with Fred and George - who know the castle extremely well - still haven't taught me everything I need to know about the castle."

"Good point, we'll have to be careful," Harry agrees, then suddenly adds. "You fancy him, don't you?"

"I beg your pardon?" I ask, confused.

"Fred," Harry elaborates. "You fancy him."

"Wha- I mean, h-how could you p-possibly think something like that," I stutter. "Just because I'm pretending to go out with him-"

"It's not that," Harry interrupts. "But just how you've been acting around him lately. You definitely didn't always like him. It seemed like you hated him in the beginning of our First Year-"

"I still don't understand why you thought - or still think - that," I interject, "I wasn't sure what my opinion on him was. I didn't hate him, nor did I like him. I was indifferent to him, I guess you can say. Just because you aren't friends with someone, doesn't automatically mean you hate them."

"Okay, fine, you were indifferent to him," Harry says, "And from since you became best friends, up until now, you've never blushed around him. Yet you did back there. Besides, I can tell when you fancy a guy and when you don't. I've been there when you had those crushes on those Muggle boys, remember?"

"Well, that was a long time ago, wasn't it?" I point out. "I haven't had any sort of crush on a boy since I was seven. Don't you think my behaviour around boys would be slightly different?"

"You act different around Fred than you do with me," Harry counters. "Or Ron, or George. Besides, I can tell when you're lying, Hazel."

"Well, I mean, since you figured it out, I kind of, sort of do," I admit sheepishly, looking at the ground and blushing.

"I knew it!" Harry says. "And besides, now that I think about it, you'd make a pretty good couple."

"Tell that to Fred," I mumble. "Let's just move on, all right?"

"Hello, you two," Professor Lupin greets, appearing from around the corner we were about to turn. "Why aren't you two at Hogsmeade?"

"I didn't have permission to go," Harry answers in what I think is an offhand voice. How wrong he is.

"I decided not to go," I add casually, but half glance at Harry. By looking at Lupin, I can tell that he understands perfectly.

"I see," he says knowingly. "Why don't you come into my office for a cup of tea."

Harry and I exchange slightly awkward glances, but then shrug and enter the office anyway. It'd be rude to refuse. Lupin taps the kettle with his wand, and a blast of steam issues out of it.

"Sit down," he says, taking the lid off a dusty tin. "I'm afraid I've only got tea bags, but I daresay you've had enough of tea leaves?"

Harry and I look up at him. Lupin's eyes are twinkling. Ah, so he knows about the Grim in Harry's cup.

"How did you know about that?" Harry asks,

"Professor McGonagall told me about it," Lupin answers. "You're not worried, are you?"

"No," Harry replies, and I look over at him to see if he's lying. I can tell if he's lying as well. He is. He's worried. And I think about more things than the Grim...

Lupin must be able to tell as well, because he asks, "Anything worrying you, Harry?"

"No," Harry answers. Another lie. He takes a sip of his tea, and I decided to take a sip myself. I follow Harry's gaze to the Grindylow - a water demon - in a tank, baring its teeth at us. "Yes," Harry admits, "You know that day we fought the Boggart?"

"Yes," Lupin says slowly, and I raise my eyebrows at Harry, but keep my mouth closed and take a sip of my tea. Now what is this all about?

"Why didn't you let me fight it?" Harry asks abruptly.

"I would've thought that would be obvious, Harry," Lupin remarks, raising his eyebrows.

I'm really surprised at this. I expected Lupin to deny that he had ever refused to let Harry fight the Boggart. By glancing at Harry, I can tell he's surprised too.

"Why?" Harry asks again, and I straighten up in my chair slightly in interest.

"Well," Lupin begins, frowning slightly. "I assumed that if the Boggart faced you, it'd assume the shape of Lord Voldemort."

This surprises me more than Lupin's honestly. Not the fact that Harry's Boggart would be Voldemort, I thought of that too. No, it's the fact that he's willingly saying the name Voldemort. Dumbledore and Harry are the only two people I know - besides myself - who can say the name.

"Clearly I was wrong," Lupin continues, still frowning a little, "but I didn't think it was a good idea for Boggart Voldemort to appear in the classroom. I imagined that people would panic."

"I didn't think about Voldemort," Harry admits. "I-I thought about those Dementors."

"I see," Lupin comments thoughtfully. "Well, I'm very impressed," he smiles at the look of shock on mine and Harry's faces. Well, I can't help it. How can he be impressed about someone's fear? "That suggests that what you fear most is - fear. Very wise, Harry."

Oh.  _That's_ how, apparently. Neither Harry or I know how to respond to this incredibly deep praise for Harry, so we both take a sip of our tea, rather awkwardly.

"So you've been thinking that I think you're incapable of fighting a Dementor?" Lupin asks him shrewdly.

"Well, yeah," Harry answers, then suddenly looks a lot happier. "Professor Lupin, you know the Dementors-"

Harry's interrupted by a knock at the door. Lupin calls for whoever it is to come in. The door opens, and Snape strides in the classroom. He's carrying a goblet, which is smoking slightly, and stops when he sees Harry and I, eyes narrowed.

"Ah, Severus," Lupin greets, smiling. "Thanks very much. Could you leave it on the desk for me?"

Snape sets the goblet on the desk, still glancing from from Harry and I to Lupin, black eyes still narrowed.

"I was just showing Harry and Hazel my Grindylow," Lupin informs Snape, pointing at the tank, and still smiling pleasantly.

"Fascinating," Snape says, without looking at the tank. "You should drink that directly, Lupin."

"Yes, yes, I will," Lupin says.

"I made an entire cauldronful," Snape continues. "In case you need more."

"I should probably take some more tomorrow," Lupin concedes. "Thanks very much, Severus."

"Not at all," Snape insists, but I really don't like that look in Snape's eyes. He backs out of the room, unsmiling and watchful.

"Professor Snape has kindly concocted a potion for me," Lupin explains, seeing mine and Harry's curious looks. "I've never been much of a potion brewer, and as this is particularly complex..." he picks up the goblet and sniffs it. "Pity sugar makes it useless," he adds, taking a sip and shuddering.

"But why-?" I begin to ask.

"I've been feeling a bit off colour," Lupin interrupts, correctly assuming what my question was going to be. "This potion is the only thing that helps. I am very fortunate that I have Severus Snape working alongside me; most wizards wouldn't be up to making it."

Professor Lupin takes another sip, and I have to resist the strong urge to knock the goblet out of his hands. One glance at Harry tells me that he's thinking what I'm thinking. We both drop hints to Lupin that Snape is an evil git who may be trying to poison him, but if he can see these hints, he's giving no signs of it. When he decides to get back to work, Harry and I leave the office, feeling horribly uneasy.

"There you go," Ron announces. "We got as much as we could carry."

Ron and Hermione dump a bunch of candy onto mine and Harry's laps, having both returned from Hogsmeade. They were pink from the cold, and looked like they had the time of their lives. I tried not to look jealous, but it must've shown through anyway, because Harry gives me a guilty glance.

"Thanks," Harry says, picking up a packet of Pepper Imps. "What's Hogsmeade like? Where did you go?"

It seems like they went just about everywhere; Dervish and Banges, the wizarding equipment shop; Zonkos, the joke shop I've been longing to go to ever since Fred and George told me about it; the Three Broomsticks, where they had foaming mugs of hot butterbeer, and many other places.

"The post office! About two hundred owls, all sitting on shelves, all colour coded based on how fast you want your letter to arrive-"

"Honeydukes has got a new type of fudge; there's a bit, look-"

"We think we saw an ogre. Honestly, the sort you get at the Three Broomsticks-"

"Wish we could've brought you some butterbeer back, really warms you up-"

Clearly they like being in Hogsmeade a lot.

"What did you do?" Hermione asks anxiously. "Did you get any work done?"

"No," I answer. "Lupin made us a cup of tea in his office. Then Snape came in..."

And so Harry and I explain all that happened with the potion. Ron is startled that Lupin is insane enough to actually drunk the potion. We go down to the Halloween feast, still discussing Snape. Hermione points out that Snape wouldn't try to poison Lupin in front of Harry and I. I personally wouldn't put it past him, but I need reassurance right now, so I just nod my head bleakly.

The Great Hall is brilliantly decorated, as usual. There are hundreds and hundreds of candle filled pumpkins, a cloud of fluttering live bats, and many flaming orange streamers, which are swimming lazily across the ceiling. The food is so delicious that Ron and Hermione, who are bursting with Honeydukes sweets, are able to take second helpings of everything.

I keep glancing at Professor Lupin, and to my relief, he looks just as cheerful and well as ever. The feast is concluded by a wildly entertaining performance by the Hogwarts ghosts. Despite not going to Hogsmeade, I'm in a very good mood when Harry, Ron, Hermione and I make our way back up to Gryffindor tower.

That soon turns to confusion when the corridor with the portrait of the Fat Lady is jammed with students. What's going on? Why isn't anyone going in? Percy bustles past importantly, going on about how he's Head Boy. As if we already didn't know.

A silence falls over the crowd, and Percy's sharp voice says, "Someone get Dumbledore. Quick."

A moment later, Professor Dumbledore is sweeping through the corridor, and we all part to give him room. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I move closer to see what's happened. I see, obviously, quite clearly what has happened.

The Fat Lady is no longer in her portrait, which has been slashed so viciously bits of canvas are on the floor. Dumbledore turns, looking grim, to see McGonagall, Lupin and Snape hurrying towards him. Dumbledore starts to give instructions to the Professors to where they should search for her, but Peeves interrupts.

"You'll be lucky," he cackles happily, since he generally enjoys chaos like this.

"Do you know where she is?" Dumbledore asks calmly.

"Oh, yes, Professorhead," Peeves answers. "She's up there. A right mess she is, too."

Dumbledore follows the line of Peeves' finger, and begins striding up a nearby staircase. The entire crowd follows him, in a rush to the find the Fat Lady. We find her in a portrait, her pink silk dress tattered and torn, her hair a mess, hiding behind an animal I can't quite make out.

"Dear lady, who did this to you?" Dumbledore asks.

"Eyes like the devil he's got," the Fat Lady says, as if in a trance. "And a soul as dark as his name. It was him, Headmaster. The one they all talk about. He's here. Somewhere in the castle. Sirius Black."

I can feel myself pale. I grab the arm of the person on my left, who happens to be Fred, as I was crammed into him because of all the rushing students. He notices my terrified expression, and gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. But he doesn't understand that it's not me I'm worried about. I find Harry's face, and I try to look reassuring, but am probably failing miserably. Let's hope Sirius Black doesn't kill anyone. Or achieve his goal...


	15. Where's Lupin?

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Fifteen: Where's Lupin?**

 

A sort of lock-down is set immediately. McGonagall escorts all the Gryffindors down to the Great Hall, whilst Snape is sent to round up all the Slytherins to take to the Great Hall, and Lupin is sent to inform all the other teachers, and make sure the other heads of the other Houses round up all their students to take to the Great Hall.

As soon as the other students arrive, they rush over to all us Gryffindors for information. Pretty soon, the entire school is buzzing about how Sirius Black is somewhere in the castle, and the fate of the Fat Lady. Percy, the Head Girl, other prefects, and the Hogwarts Ghosts are trying to get us all to shut up, but are failing miserably.

As soon as Dumbledore strides into the Great Hall, however, everyone falls silent almost immediately. Though rather grim, Dumbledore looks remarkably calm, considering the situation. He explains the situation and explains how the teachers are going to conduct a search, and that for our own safety, all of the students will be sleeping here. Oh, so it's a school sleepover? Interesting. Prefects will be standing guard over the entrances, and Head Boy and Girl will be taking charge. Disturbances should be reported immediately, and sent by one of the Hogwarts ghosts.

Dumbledore pauses, about to leave the Great Hall, and casually adds, "Oh, yes, you'll be needing..."

With a casual flick of his wand, the four tables fly to opposite ends of the hall, and stood against the walls; another wave, and the floor was covered with hundreds of squashy purple sleeping bags.

"Everyone into their sleeping bags!" Percy shouts, as everyone started talking as soon as Dumbledore left. "Come on, now, no more talking! Lights out in ten minutes!"

Like anybody's going to listen... Harry, Ron, Hermione and I each take a sleeping bag and drag it into a corner, winding our way through crowds of students.

"D'you think Black's still in the castle?" Hermione asks anxiously.

"Dumbledore obviously thinks he might be," I answer. "But I haven't the foggiest."

"It's very lucky he chose tonight, you know," Hermione points out matter-of-factly, as we all crawl into our sleeping bags fully dressed, and prop ourselves onto our elbows to talk. "The one night we weren't in the tower..."

"I reckon he lost track of time, being on the run," Ron concedes. "Didn't know it was Halloween, otherwise he's just come bursting in here."

Hermione shudders at the very thought. All around us, people are asking the exact same question. A question that I'm burning to know the answer to myself; how did Sirius Black manage to get in here, when there are Dementors at every entrance?

"Maybe he knows how to Apparate," a Ravenclaw suggests. "You know, just appeared out of thin air."

Hermione sighs in frustration. I turn to her, eyebrows raised slightly at her frustration.

"What's got your wand in a knot?" I ask, slightly amused at her expression now.

"Am I the only one who bother to actually read  _Hogwarts, A History_?" Hermione asks.

"Probably," Ron replies. "Why?"

"You can't Apparate or Disapparate between Hogwarts grounds!" she exclaims, as though this should be obvious. "The castle is protected by more than just walls, you know. There're all sorts of enchantments on it. Anyway, I doubt Black disguised himself. I'd like to see the disguise that can fool the Dementors."

"The lights are going out now!" Percy shouts over all the talking. "I want everyone in their sleeping bags and no more talking!"

All the candles go out immediately. The only light is now from the silvery ghosts floating by to talk to the prefects. At this moment, it strikes me that I'm sleeping in the same room as Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, and a lot of other people I don't like or even know. It's a big room, I know, but it sounds pretty weird, you have to admit. Though the enchanted ceiling makes me feel like I'm sleeping outside.

There are still scattered whispers here and there. It stops after an hour, when a teacher come to check on us. But everyone's still awake. I can tell. And not just because I know it's highly unlikely that nobody in this school snores. Finally, at 3:00am, when everyone finally starts drifting off to sleep, Dumbledore enters. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I, all very much awake, quickly pretend to be asleep as Dumbledore draws nearer, and Percy walks over to speak to him.

"Any sign of him, Professor?" Percy asks in a whisper.

"No," Dumbledore replies simply, and relief swells up inside me. "All well here?"

"Everything under control, sir," Percy answers reassuringly.

"Good. There's no point in moving them all now," Dumbledore decides. "I've found a temporary guardian for Gryffindor tower. You'll be able to move them back in tomorrow."

"And the Fat Lady, sir?" Percy asks.

"She's still very distressed, but once she's calmed down, I'll have Mr. Filch restore here." Dumbledore answers.

Percy eventually turns to go around and check to make sure everyone's asleep. And more importantly - at least, in his eyes - not talking. Snape strides into the room not too long after.

"Headmaster?" he says, and Dumbledore turns. "The whole of the third floor has been searched. He's not there. And Filch has done the dungeons; nothing there either."

"What about the Astronomy Tower? Professor Trelawney's room? The Owlery?"

"All searched."

"Very well, Severus. I didn't really expect Black to linger."

"Have you any theory as to how he got in?" Snape asks, and I strain my ears to catch every word.

"Many, Severus, each as unlikely at the next." Dumbledore answers.

"You may recalls, prior to the start of term, I did express my concerns when you appointed Professor-"

"I do not believe a single Professor in this castle tried to help Sirius Black break into it, Severus," Dumbledore insists. There's a pause, and I open my eyes just a bit to see Snape's eyes glitter darkly, and Dumbledore staring out the window thoughtfully. "No. I feel quite confident the castle is safe. And I'm quite willing to let the students return to their Houses. Tomorrow. But for now, let them sleep. For in dreams, we enter a world that is entirely our own..."

That following Friday, all of Gryffindor goes to where the portrait which usually contains the Fat Lady, but find Sir Cadogan instead. I suppose it makes sense. He's the only person who's brave enough to take on the job after what happened to the Fat Lady.

"Who dare challenge Sir Cadogan! Back, you scurvy braggarts! You rogues!" he exclaims, brandishing a sword at us.

"He's barking mad!" Seamus exclaims.

"Well, obviously," I mutter. "Who else would be brave enough to take on the job after what happened to the Fat Lady?"

"But he keeps changing the passwords! Twice just this morning!" Neville exclaims. "I've taken to keeping a list."

Losing my patience, I snap. "Dammit, just let us in, already! If we were really working for Sirius Black - or Black in disguise - we would've ripped you out like he did to the Fat Lady, for God's sake! Just because you're a knight - for God's sake, I'm a Knight by name, and you don't see me doing all the rubbish you're doing! - and you've got the bloody sword doesn't mean he - or any of us, for that matter - are afraid of you!"

Most people murmur their agreements, and the rest nod angrily. Quite a few people also laugh at my pun. Merlin, sometimes I just love my surname.

"You dare? You foul, scurvy little-" Sir Cadogan begins in outrage.

"Yeah, yeah, just let us in for God's sake, or we're all going to be late for class!" I interrupt. "And let us know the password, too, while you're at it."

"Oh, I remember you. You're the one who was complaining the whole time when I so kindly aided you and your companions in your quest." Sir Cadogan remarks. "Oh, all right. I'll let you in. And the password's Scurvy Cur, if you must know!"

"Thank you!" I snap in mock-gratefulness.

"Temper, temper," Fred scolds mockingly, but when I glower at him, he closes his mouth.

"Damn straight," I mutter, and rush upstairs to get my Defence Against the Dark Arts work.

"Come on, we'll be late," I tell Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

Halfway to Defence Against the Dark Arts, however, Oliver Wood stops us, and insists on talking to Harry and I. We exchange exasperated glances, and sigh. Harry and I tell Ron and Hermione to go on, and turn to Oliver, as he starts ranting about Quidditch strategies.

Oliver's been a bit desperate to give as many Quidditch tactics as possible since we found out we're playing against Hufflepuff and not Slytherin. It's because Cedric Diggory is now team captain, and Oliver suspects he's got some new tricks for Hufflepuff up his sleeve. He's probably right, but we're not ten minutes late for Defence Against the Dark Arts...

"Oliver! We'll talk about it later, all right? We need to go now!" I insist. "And so do you! You have classes to get to!" And with that, Harry and I turn and run for Defence Against the Dark Arts. We burst through the door, and I quickly close it behind me.

"Professor Lupin, we're so sorry!" I exclaim.

"Potter, Knight," Snape says. "You are both ten minutes late for class, so I think I'll deduct ten points from each of you. Sit down." Harry and I, however, stay rooted to our spots. What is he doing here?

"Where's Professor Lupin?" I ask bluntly.

"I don't think it's any of your business, but I'll have you know that Lupin simply finds himself unable to teach," Snape replies. "You've disobeyed my orders. Another five points off of each of you. Now sit down before I make it fifty. Open your books and turn to page three-hundred and ninety-four, as well."

Harry and I sit down next to Ron, and open our books. Werewolves. Wait, what? We're not due to start werewolves for weeks. We're on Hinkypunks right now, aren't we?

"But, sir," Hermione protests, raising her hand. "We've just started studying Hinkypunks. We're not due to start nocturnal beasts for weeks."

"Ms. Granger, I was under the impression that I was teaching the lesson, not you," Snape says dangerously. Oh, please. I bet Hermione would do a better job than you, Snape. "And now I'm asking you to turn to page three-hundred and ninety-four. Now!" he orders, glancing at the people who still didn't open their books yet. "Now, who can identify the different between a werewolf and a true wolf?"

What part of we haven't learnt this yet does he not get? Er, so werewolves are only wolves during the full moon, but a true wolf is a full wolf all the time? Or does he mean during the full moon? If so, I have no clue. Whilst the rest of the class sits in silence, Hermione's hand is high up in the air.

"Nobody?" Snape asks, ignoring Hermione's hand, with his old twisted smile. "Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn't taught you the basic distinction between-"

"We already told you," Parvati interrupts. "We haven't gotten as far as werewolves yet-"

"And in case you haven't noticed, Hermione here knows the answer," I add.

"Silence," Snape snarls. "Well, well, well, I never thought I'd see a Third Year class that didn't even recognize a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make note to Professor Dumbledore about how very behind you all are..."

Is this man stupid or something? How does he not understand that we haven't bloody studies werewolves yet, so only someone like Hermione could know the bloody answer to this?!

"Please, sir," Hermione speaks up, hand still in the air. "The werewolf differs from the wolf in separate small ways. The snout of the werewolf-"

"This is the second time you've spoken out of turn, Ms. Granger," Snape interrupts coolly. "Are you just unable to contain yourself, or do you pride yourself on being an insufferable know-it-all? Another five points from Gryffindor."

Going very red, Hermione puts her hand down, and stares at the desk, tears in her eyes. I turn to glare at Snape, along with every other Gryffindor. It's a true mark of how much we all hate Snape, since we've all called Hermione a know-it-all at least once - hey, I've even told her that to her face in First Year. Though I suppose it wasn't in the context to insult her - and it's Ron, who calls her a know-it-all at least twice a week who speaks up to defend her.

"You asked us a question and she knew the answer! Why ask if you don't want to be told?"

The entire class instantly knows he's gone too far. I think even Ron knows. Snape advances on Ron slowly, and the class holds its breath. Biting my lip, I glance around the room nervously, and notice how excited the Slytherins look. Prats. I give them a nice little wave of my middle finger.

"Detention, Weasley," Snape says silkily, face close to Ron's, "and if I ever heard you criticize the way I teach again, you will be very sorry indeed."

No one makes a sound for the rest of the lesson. Instead, we copy down notes on werewolves, while Professor Snape strides through rows of desks, examining work we've done for Professor Lupin.

"Very poorly explained... That is incorrect, the Kappa is most commonly found in Mongolia. Professor Lupin gave this an 8 out of 10? I would have given it a three..."

"Well then, I guess it's too bad that you're not charge of giving marks in this class, huh?" I snap sarcastically, being the first student to speak since Ron had stuck up for Hermione.

Snape turns around to face me, his expression menacing. I look him directly in his black eyes that have always reminded me of dark, endless tunnels that fill you up with depression, hopelessness and despair. Yeah, his eyes aren't too wonderful to look into. He walks over to me, and lowers his face so that our faces are level. I still refuse to break eye contact, my own expression blank.

"This is the second time you've criticized me and my teaching. Detention for you too, Knight," Snape says in a soft, dangerous sort of voice. "And don't let me ever hear you criticize me and my teaching again. And I think I'll take another five points."

"Wonderful," I say sarcastically. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd appreciate it if you'd let me continue to copy down my notes."

When class is finally over, Snape is horrible and rude enough to hold us back. Ugh, can I just leave already?!

"You will each write an essay, to be handed in to me, on ways you can recognize and kill werewolves. I want two rolls of parchment on the subject, and I want them in by Monday. It is time somebody in this class took hand. Weasley, Knight, stay behind, we need to arrange your punishments."

Ron and I exchange slightly grim and angry looks, before walking over to the desk that is usually occupied by Lupin, but is now occupied by Snape. The thought that Snape is there instead of Lupin makes me extremely angry.

"You both have been very disrespectful," Snape begins, with that horrible twisted smile. "You've criticized my teaching, and myself. That is not acceptable." Just tell us the damn punishment already! "If you believe that you may commit such transgressions without consequences, I'm afraid you have another thing coming. You may be able to get away with an unreasonable amount of things with other teachers - I'll have you know that if I had things my way, neither of you, or Potter or Ms. Granger would be here right now - but not with me. You will get  _no_ special treatment." Of course we won't have special treatment. We'll be verbally abused, to the point where he clearly wants to abuse us with magic.

"Weasley, you will be cleaning bedpans in the hospital wing," Snape informs him. "Without magic, of course. Knight, you will be cleaning up in the Trophy Room. It's regained some of it's old dirt and dust, and Filch needs you help. You, of course, won't be using magic, either. Both of your detentions will take place this Sunday."

"Fine," Ron and I mutter and storm out of the room angrily.

We find that Harry and Hermione have been waiting for us, both looking angry.

"D'you know what that  _bastard_ -" Ron begins furiously.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaims, looking around to check if there's a teacher nearby.

"-is making us do? I've got to clean bedpans in the Hospital Wing. Without magic! And he's making Hazel clean the Trophy Room! No magic, either! That's bloody torture, I know from experience. My arms ached for hours!" Oh, wonderful. Ron's breathing deeply, trying to calm down, fists clenched. "Why couldn't Black have hidden in Snape's office. He could've finished him off for us!"

"Unfortunately, we aren't nearly that lucky," I sigh.

Well, we all know we're not...


	16. Annoy the World

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Sixteen: Annoy the World**

 

Now I really want Fred and I to fake breakup. Why? Because now the comments are just plain annoying. All the comments encouraging the 'relationship' have basically stopped. Now it's all the girls who want to split us up. Weirdly enough, I don't like being called a slut, whore, or hoe. Nor am I a big fan of comments like, "Fred deserves better!" and "Why would he like someone like you?!" I will admit, comments like those last two hurt so much because I know it's true. He does deserve better. There's no reason he would like me. All the teasing is getting annoying too. I can take a joke, but these are just ridiculous, and really getting on my nerves.

"That's it!" I snap, closing my Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook, and shoving it in my bag haphazardly. "That's it!"

Another comment warning me not to get too carried away with Fred. I can't take it any more. Can't I just get my homework done in peace? Where's Fred? I need to find him and tell him that we have to breakup now. I see Lee across the common room, tell Harry, Ron, and Hermione I'll be right back, and walk over to Lee.

"Where's Fred?" I demand.

"Why, off to go snog somewhere again?" Lee asks, smirking.

"Seriously, Lee, where is he?" I ask, hopefully showing him how serious I'm being.

"He's in the library," Lee finally answers, looking slightly caught off guard by how serious I am.

"Are you joking?" I ask, smiling faintly. "Fred - as in Fred  _Weasley_ \- in the  _library_?"

"I was just as surprised as you were, trust me," Lee assures me, then, smirking, adds, "Until he told me that he wanted to impress this  _really_ hot Ravenclaw. She's in our year, and apparently she fancies him."

Well, I just went from angry and exasperated to heartbroken and miserable in a matter of seconds. That must be some sort of new record. Hopefully nothing dhows on my face. Worst of all, I think I know exactly who this Ravenclaw is.

"Does she have long blonde hair?" I ask.

"Yeah, actually," Lee answers, and my heart sinks slightly, starting to be more sure of my theory.

"And let me guess, really sparkly blue eyes?" I add.

"Yeah! D'you know her?" Lee asks, looking shocked.

"I suppose you can say that," I reply shortly. "Well, thanks for telling me. I need to talk to him about this whole 'dating' thing." I do little air quotes around the word dating. "but if he's off flirting with that Ravenclaw, I'll do him a favour and wait until he's finished."

"What? Oh, come on, hazel, don't go off and break up with him," Lee insists. "It's only a laugh."

"Maybe for you, Fred and George, but not for me," I tell him, "it's not like any of you get called a slut, or a whore or a hoe all the time!"

"Maybe not," George agrees, joining in our conversation, "but Fred's gotten a bit of a hard time himself, to be completely honest. I dunno if you know this, Hazel, but it seems like a fair few guys fancy you a bit. They think you're pretty and cool."

"Very funny," I say doubtfully. "Like any guy would fancy me, when there're girls who are just more - likeable. In that sort of sense, I mean."

"No, I'm serious! You have a couple of admirers," George insists. "Little Hazel has grown up."

"That's not even the point!" I insist. "The joke's getting old, anyway. The only way we'd get any more of a reaction is if we snogged, and no offence to him or anything, but that is  _so_ not happening."

"That's a brilliant idea, Hazel!" Lee says.

"Yeah? Too bad that idea is never going to be anything more than an idea!" I exclaim.

"Fine, it's your call," George finally says, "but remember, this is one of the most brilliant jokes ever. And by the way, if you fake breakup with him, you're just letting all those people who called you a slut or whatever win. I thought you weren't one to give in."

"I'm not!" I protest.

"Well, you are if you're letting all these people get to you. In my eyes, you either let everything get to you," George begins, "or you laugh, say something back, and get more of a laugh for yourself."

"Well, I guess that's true..." I mumble. "But still, I have the feeling someone's going to catch on anyway. And it'd be better for us to end it, than have someone figure out and have the joke end in a worse way. Besides, I wouldn't want to ruin it for Fred with that Ravenclaw. She really is very pretty."

"Whatever you say, Knight," Lee says. "Like George said, it's your call."

"Er, I think I'll..." I begin nervously. Ugh. Everything was so clear until George and Lee went and messed it all up! Now I don't know what to do! "Uh, I think I'll just talk to Fred. Who knows, maybe he'll want to end it too."

"I doubt it, but all right," George says.

"See you later, then," I mutter, then exit the common room.

Through the corridors, down and up staircases, through passages, barely noticing where I'm going. I hate it when George is right. But, I dunno, I just really hate fake dating Fred... If I ask nicely, he can't refuse, can he? Of course he can! He's not three, even if he does act like it sometimes.

Once inside the library, I look around, trying to find him. It's incredibly easy. He's a little off to the side, with that Ravenclaw. He's clearly turning on the charm for her, as if that was bloody necessary. He knows very well she already fancies him. He's making her laugh. She keeps giggling.

" _What're you doing, Hazel_?" that loud voice in my head says, " _you either interrupt their little conversation, or watch as that stupid little Ravenclaw steals his heart_."

" _But I can't just interrupt their conversation. That'd be rude, and I'd seem clingy and annoying. Besides, if Fred and the Ravenclaw are meant to be together, then who am I to get in the way of that_?" I point out.

" _Exactly, I think you should just wait it out. I have a feeling things won't last long with those two anyway_ ," the small voice speaks up.

" _You really think so_?" I ask the small voice hopefully.

" _Yup. You better pretend you're looking for a book right now, too. You've been staring at the two of them for at least a minute, and they're about to turn in ten seconds_." the small voice warns.

This makes me snap out of it. The small voice was right. I have been staring at them for a while. Oh, dammit, no. I quickly go behind a bookshelf, and pretend to be looking through the shelves. A few seconds later, I hear footsteps, but before I can turn around, someone covers my eyes again.

"Hey, Fred," I greet.

"How'd you know it was me?" Fred asks, pretending to be shocked.

"I saw you when I came in, genius," I inform him teasingly.

"Oh, I know. How long exactly were you staring at Dawn and me?" Fred asks, smirking. "Not actually getting jealous, are we?"

"God, no, of course not," I lie, pretending to look disgusted. "And not very long, thank you very much. I kind of got lost in thought about what book I wanted to get, so I hardly noticed you."

"Oh, really, and what book is it that you wanted to get?" Fred asks, smirking.

"Um. I - uh - I wanted to get that book about - er, um - you know-" I stutter. "Oh, all right, fine, you got me. I'm not here to get a book."

"Shocking," Fred says sarcastically.

"I'm here because I need to talk to you," I continue as though there was no interruption.

"All right, then talk," Fred says, "and this time, we actually are alone."

"I think we should break up," I blurt out. "The whole joke has really gotten old. And besides, I've heard from George that I apparently have got admirers, and they're giving you a hard time, and-"

"Other people are giving you a hard time," Fred finishes for me, "I've heard people call you a slut and all that."

"Well, I mean, I guess that's a contributing factor," I mumble.

"You mean the only factor," Fred corrects. "I know you, Hazel."

"Unfortunately," I add, sighing and leaning against the book shelf.

"So, you want to end it because of that?" Fred asks. "I just didn't think you were one to give in to stuff like that."

"Why is everyone suddenly assuming I am?" I snap.

"Well, because you are," Fred replies bluntly.

"Am not!" I argue.

"Are to," Fred counters. "Listen, Hazey, remember in your First Year, when you lost all those points for Gryffindor, and comments followed you everywhere?"

"How could I forget, that was horrible," I murmur.

"But you didn't stop doing everything you could to win House point back, did you?"

"Well, no," I admit.

"Then people saying things about this shouldn't matter either. What happened to that First Year who didn't really give a damn if people talked about her like that?" Fred asks.

"I-I really don't know," I mumble. "Might've forgotten her at the Martins..."

"Look, Hazel," Fred says. "Quite frankly, stuff like this is going to happen a lot in your life. Particularly to you, I bet, too, if I'm completely honest. You're rebellious, you can go mental when mad, you do your own thing - I mean to say, you're really not like most girls - and you always meddle in things. People are going to talk shit, and they're going to annoy you. The trick is to annoy them back. Just annoy the world if you have to."

"Yeah, annoy the world," I agree. "That makes sense, I guess. But where does Dawn fit in to all this?" I ask, suddenly a bit cranky.

"She doesn't," Fred replies simply.

" _I won't say I told you so. I'm above that_ ," the small voice informs me,

"But - but don't you fancy her?" I ask in surprise.

"She's hot, but she's not really my type," Fred answers.

" _Oh, I can't help it. I told you so_!" the small voice exclaims.

"Ah, I see. And does she know that you think that?" I ask.

"I'm sure she'll figure it out eventually," Fred says, as though this is not big concern to him.

"Eventually," I repeat quietly. "So, as that's now all cleared up, and I have no book to take out, I should get back to my homework."

"All right, I should get back to the common room, too," Fred adds.

"And let me guess, not to do homework?" I guess,

"How d'you know?" Fred asks, pretending to look shocked.

Laughing, we head out of the library, and up to the Gryffindor common room. Sir Cadogan gives me a hateful glare before letting us in. He really hates me now... Fred and I go separate ways. Me to do homework, and Fred to do... well, whatever he really feels like doing, I suppose... probably just mess around.

When I return to the table that originally held Harry, Ron, Hermione and I, I only fine Hermione. Harry and Ron probably went off to bed and are going to finish their homework last minute... I really hope they do learn that it's not very good to do that...

"Where're Harry and Ron?" I ask, despite the fact that I know the most likely answer.

"They went to bed," Hermione answers absently, confirming that I'm right.

"Thought so," I tell her, before taking out my Defence Against the Dark Arts homework again. One and a half scrolls of parchment down, another half to go.

"Hazel, you may think I'm crazy, but I think Professor Lupin's a werewolf," Hermione announces quietly, after about half an hour, when I'm just finishing my essay.

"Come again?" I ask in shock. "Why would you think that?"

"Because, look," Hermione says, pointing at the lunar calender. "He's been ill every full moon."

"Well, I'll admit that's suspicious," I admit. "But it's only been two months. For all we know, it could just be coincident. He might have some sort of other illness. Hell, he might just be prone to getting sick."

"That's what I thought, too," Hermione admits. "But then I remembered something. Remember our first Defence Against the Dark Arts class? When we were fighting that Boggart?"

"Yes," I reply slowly.

"Well, when Professor Lupin faced it, it turned into a sort of silvery orb, remember? I couldn't figure out what it was for the longest time, and I figured it out today. It wasn't a crystal ball like Lavender said or anything like that-"

"Of course not. Who in their right mind would be afraid of a crystal ball?" I mumble.

"It was the full moon! Who else would be afraid of the full moon but a reluctant werewolf?" Hermione finishes, as though I hadn't just interrupted her. "And that potion Snape's been giving him, it's Wolfsbane!"

"Okay, sure that's a but of a different fear, but... I mean, that doesn't necessarily guarantee..." I falter. There's no other explanation. Hermione's right. Lupin's a werewolf. "All right, fine, you're right. He's a werewolf."

"Oh, poor Lupin!" Hermione exclaims. "That's horrible!"

"I know. But the biggest favour we can really do for him is to not tell anyone, and not let him know that we know," I insist. "Giving him sympathy won't help him. I doubt he likes it, anyway. I know  _I_ find it annoying."

"Yeah, you're right," Hermione sighs.

We slowly return to our work. Eventually, I roll up my now finished History of Magic essay, and close my textbook triumphantly. I let out a loud yawn. I should probably get to bed. I'll need all my energy for that Quidditch match tomorrow. Hermione decides to go to bed as well. None of us are done all of our homework. This is the first time we've gone to bed with our homework unfinished. It's getting a bit difficult to keep up with all this homework. Ah well, we'll manage.

As we get to our feet, there's a very calming rumble of thunder. I sigh contentedly. God, I love the sound of rumbling thunder mixed with heavy rain. And the look of some lightning isn't that bad either... Though, all of this is horrible Quidditch weather. Let's hope this all clears up for tomorrow.

"Hey, Knight, don't go off and shag Fred. I think I'm speaking on behalf of the rest of Gryffindor that we'd rather not be woken up by the sound of you two getting it on," some fifth year Gryffindor boy that I've never talked to in my life announces.

The entire common room laughs loudly, and looks for embarrassment on my face. Fred, who had looked around right when his name had been mentioned, looks at me in interest to see how I'll react. Hermione opens her mouth furiously to tell him off, but I nudge her, and shake my head at her slightly when she faces me. I look the boy right in the eyes.

"No promises there," I say, winking and putting on a happily embarrassed look.

Half of the common room breaks out into catcalls and wolf-whistles. The rest, however, burst out laughing. Among those, Ginny, Lee, Fred and George, who are actually in on the whole joke, laugh the hardest. I think it might actually be Fred who's laughing the hardest out of everyone.

When he catches my eye, I smirk at him in a 'I told you I wouldn't let them get to me' way. I give George and Lee the same smirk. I wave at them goodnight, but Fred bounds over to me.

"Night, Knight," he whispers, then kisses my cheek.

"Night, Freddie," I whisper back.

With a final little wave, I open the door to the Girls' dormitories, and start going up the spiral staircase.

"Come on, Fred, don't try to follow her up," the voice of who I recognize to be Lee is the last thing I hear before Hermione closes the door behind her. I laugh loudly at that, then cover my mouth to stifle my laughter. Good old Lee Jordan, always a laugh, that one is.

Once in my pyjamas, I crawl into bed. I dunno why I'm suddenly a lot more okay with this whole fake dating thing than I was before. It's still heartbreaking. It's still annoying. The only thing that's different is that I've realized not to let any comments get to me. If they annoy me, annoy them back. It's like Fred said, just annoy the world, if I've got to.

But that's not what I should focus on. Tomorrow we've got our Quidditch match, and I need to be completely focused.


	17. The Match

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Seventeen: The Match**

 

When I wake up, I feel somebody shaking me. Probably Hermione. I open my eyes, and find that I'm right. A very impatient and exasperated Hermione is standing over me.

"Morning," I greet cheerfully.

"Why does it take you so long to get up?" Hermione asks.

"We can't all be extremely light sleepers like you, Mione," I point out. "I bet it didn't even take that long."

"Since when is twenty minutes not that long to wake someone up?" Hermione counters.

"Oh..." I mumble. "Never mind, then."

I change into some of my normal clothes, grab my Nimbus 2001, and along with Hermione, we walk downstairs to the common room. We meet with Harry and Ron, and together, we head down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

I look up at the enchanted ceiling when we enter the Great Hall. It's raining heavily, and there's still thunder and lightning. Definitely not good weather to play Quidditch. It'll be cold, and hard to see much, since the sky is a dark grey. But what choice do we have? Quidditch matches aren't cancelled to situations like thunder and lightning. And the Slytherin team knew that.

They knew very well that the Quidditch match wouldn't be cancelled because of the weather, so they used Malfoy's so-called broken arm as an excuse not to play. That's the whole reason we're playing Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin. Everyone knows that Malfoy's arm isn't actually broken any more, and he's not perfectly capable to play, but there's nothing we could do about it. We've got no proof.

I've already eaten a bowl of porridge, and am starting on some toast when the rest of the Quidditch team comes in.

"It's going to be a tough one," Oliver informs us grimly, not eating anything.

"Stop worrying, Oliver," Angelina says soothingly. "We don't mind a bit of rain."

The problem is, it's quite a lot more than just a bit of rain. The amount of people who shop up to match is the same, but they had to run with heads bowed against the ferocious wind toward the Quidditch pitch, with umbrellas being blown out of their hands as they go. Just before Harry and I enter the change room, we see Malfoy Crabbe and Goyle walking under a large umbrella, pointing and laughing at us. My eyes narrow. The stupid little prat.

Before I'm 100% sure of what I want to do, my wand's in my hand, and pointed at them. Without wondering what'll happen to me as punishment, I whisper, " _Tarantallegra_!"

Immediately, they all start dancing uncontrollably, like utter idiots. As they had turned away when  cast the spell, they're looking around wildly for whoever cast it, AKA. me. I quickly stuff my wand into my pocket.

"Come on, Harry, quickly," I say, laughing, before taking his arm and dragging him into the changing room.

"That was brilliant," Harry exclaims, laughing.

"Did you see their faces?" I ask.

"Did you see how they were dancing?" Harry counters.

I do a horribly clumsy impression of how they were dancing. Since I'm so clumsy, I nearly fall over, but Fred and George grab each of my arms and pull me back up.

"Now," Fred begins sternly, with an amused smile on his face.

"Why the  _hell_ were you dancing-" George continues.

"Like there was a bunch of angry bees in your pants?" Fred finishes.

Harry and I exchange looks, then burst out laughing. Fred and George look amused, but more confused than anything. When I finally calm down, I take it upon myself to explain.

"Malfoy was being a giant git, so I took it upon myself to use that Tarantallegra jinx on him and Crabbe and Goyle," I explain simply.

Now that they're all caught up, Fred and George start laughing as well. But when Wood comes in, looking extremely grim, we all stop laughing to show him that we're serious about this match. We all change into our Quidditch uniforms, and wait for Oliver's pre-match pep talk, but it doesn't come. He tries to speak several times, but makes an odd gulping noise each time, and eventually just gestures for us to follow him.

The wind is so strong that we all stagger a bit to the side when we walk onto the pitch. If anyone from the crowd is cheering for us, we can't hear it over the thunder. I can hardly see because of all the heavy rain, and the dark sky. How the hell am I supposed to know where Katie and Angelina are? Forget that, how am I supposed to know which goalpost I'm shooting on?

The Hufflepuffs approach from the opposite end of the pitch, wearing bright canary-yellow robes. The captains walk up to shake hands; Cedric smiles, but Oliver looks like he has a lockjaw and merely nods. Madam Hooch forms the words "Mount your brooms." I pull my right foot out of the mud with a squelch, and throw it over my Nimbus. Madam Hooch puts the whistle to her lips, and out comes a sound that sounds both shrill and distant - and we're off.

Within five minutes, I'm soaked to my skin and freezing, and hardly able to see the rest of the players, let alone my own team. It's extremely difficult to know where to pass, and only know the Quaffle's going my way when it's almost right at me. I feel really bad for Harry, who has to try and catch the little Snitch in this weather. I've nearly been hit by a Bludger three times.

I lose track of time. I have no idea what the score is, I'm not sure if any of the shots I've made have gone in or not, and it's getting harder to hold my broom straight. The sky's getting all the more dark, as though night promised day to replace it earlier than usual. I've nearly hit another player four times, without having a clue if they were a Hufflepuff or a Gryffindor; the rain is so thick, and everyone is so wet that I can't tell them apart.

When the first flash of lightning appears, Madam Hooch blows her whistle ahain. I can just make out the outline of Oliver through the thick rain, gesturing me to the ground. The whole team splashed down into the mud.

"I called for a time-out!" Oliver roars to us. "Come on, under here-"

We huddle at the edge of the field under a huge umbrella. Beside me, Harry hurriedly takes off his glasses and wipes them on his robes. I wonder why. His robes are soaking wet, they're not going to help much...

"I've got no chance with these," Harry insists, waving his glasses exasperatedly.

At this moment, Hermione arrives at Harry's shoulder. She's holding her cloak over her head, and for reasons I'll never know, she's smiling.

"I've got an idea, Harry. Give me your glasses, quick!"

Looking a bit confused, Harry hands them over to her. We all watch in amazement as she taps his glasses with her wand and says, " _Impervius_!"

"There!" Hermione says, handing them back to Harry. "Now they'll repel water!"

Talk about a brilliant idea! But then again, it  _is_ Hermione, here. What else could one expect from her? If I'm pleased with her, it's nothing compared to Oliver. He looks like he could kiss her!

"Brilliant!" he yells hoarsely after her. "Okay, team, let's go for it!"

For some reason, Hermione's spell had filled not only me, but the entire team with fresh determination, and we play harder than ever. A bit later, there's another extremely loud clap of thunder, followed by some forks of lightning. This is getting more and more dangerous. I hope Harry can catch the Snitch soon. The sooner we get out of this weather, the better for everyone. Especially Gryffindor, because that means we've won...

I'm shooting towards the Hufflepuff goalpost, Quaffle in hand, when something weird happens. An eerie silence falls across the stadium. The wind is still as strong as ever, but it's forgetting to roar. It's as if someone decided to turn off the sound. As though I'm suddenly deaf. What's going on?

Then the horribly familiar cold sweeps through me, and I suddenly become aware of something wrong moving on the field below. Completely terrified, I look down below me, completely letting my guard down.

At least a hundred Dementors stand below me, all looking in the same direction. I can't even tear my eyes away from the horrifying scene long enough to see what direction they're looking. It's not at me, that's all I know. Even though I'm still soaring vaguely in the air, I feel frozen in time. As though freezing water is rushing through my chest, cutting at my insides. Suddenly, the sound of the woman - my mother - screaming the name 'Brandon' desperately sounds in my head. The numbing, swirling white mist surrounds me once more. I suddenly feel extremely light headed. What's going on? Why am I flying? Why is this woman screaming? I find myself gripping onto the handle of my broom extremely hard.

It contracts slightly, and when I can see better, I wish that I was blind. This is the scariest sight ever. Dementors swarming someone I can't make out in the distance, sucking the air around him or her with a horrifying sound, as though they want more than just oxygen. The screaming is getting louder and louder and my head is pounding. Then, the person who the Dementors are surrounding passes out, falls off their broom, and plunges at least fifty feet. What am I doing? Why am I not helping? Why do I feel frozen when people need my help?

When I feel like I'm finally about to fall - like it's all over - it suddenly stops. Just like that. I get a sense of my surroundings. The Quaffle is falling to the ground at top speed, but that's the least of my worries. I regain my balance, as I'm about to slip off my broom. A random broom whips past me. I squint at it, and barely make out the label _Nimbus 2000._ Nimbus 2000? That's Harry's broom! It crashes into the Whomping Willow. Oh, no. That won't be good. Wait a minute? Where's Harry, if that's his broomstick?

That day when Harry fainted on the Hogwarts Express flashes back to my mind. Why must my mind scare me even more? I look around wildly, and find a huddle of people on the ground. He'll be among them. Yeah. He hasn't just dropped 100 feet. I fly to the ground, and when I land, I hear yelling. From the most unexpected person ever.

Albus freaking Dumbledore - with a silvery form in the shape of a phoenix - is shouting bloody murder at the Dementors. Albus Dumbledore, AKA. Mr. Calm-all-the-bloody-time. Holy crap. That is terrifying to see. Not to self:  _never_ get Dumbledore mad. He yells and yells before the Dementors finally head back to the entrances. Bloody hell. That was scary.

I turn back to all the people, and run forwards. Being as short as I am, I can't see what's going on, and nobody is polite enough to move out of the bloody way for me. My eyes narrow my annoyance. So that's how they want to play it? Not happening. I push and elbow my way through to the front, ignoring grunts of pain.

"Should've thought about that when you refused to let me through!" I yell a them over my shoulder.

When I'm at the front, I stop dead, and stare at the body in horror. Harry. It was Harry. But I think he's alive. I mean, he ground is soft enough, thanks to all the mud, and his glasses aren't even broken. And he just can't be dead. The mere thought of it is unimaginable. I bend down at his head, and begin slapping his face like I did on the train.

"Wake up, Harry," I demand calmly.

"Hazel," Fred says gently, reaching out to grab my shoulder.

I turn to look at him. His grim expression makes me mad and frustrated. Why does he look so upset? He's obviously not dead. He can't be. Doesn't Fred realize that? I turn back around, and shake Fred's hand off my shoulder.

"Wake up, Harry," I repeat firmly.

"Hazel, it was at least fifty feet. He's probably-" Katie tries this time, and I turn around to face her angrily.

"Don't finish that sentence!" I warn he dangerously. "Why are you making something so horrible out of nothing! The ground is soft, and he hasn't even broken his glasses!"

I turn back to Harry, and begin slapping his face more desperately.

"For Merlin's sake, Harry, wake up already! Show them!" I say, slightly exasperated.

"Miss. Knight, move aside," a voice says.

"You guys, for the last time, he's not-" I yell, turning around to face him, but find someone else.

Dumbledore. Oh, whoops. I should've noticed the change in voice. And how Fred never calls me Miss. Knight, unless he wanted to tease me. And he wouldn't tease me at a time like this.

"I'm so sorry! But, sir-" I begin to protest respectfully, but Dumbledore cuts me off.

"Miss. Knight, please," Dumbledore repeats firmly. "I'd like to take Harry to the hospital wing."

Reluctantly, I stand back up and back up to stand between Fred and Ron. We all watch as Dumbledore conjures up a stretcher, makes Harry float onto it, and floats the stretcher away.

While everyone settles all the details of the match, I just stand there and stare blankly at the ground, all the details registering vaguely in my mind. How can they be discussing something like this now? Someone puts their arm around my shoulders, and gives them a reassuring squeeze. I look up, and see Fred giving me a weak smile. I return it, blinking back tears.

He guides me over to where Oliver, Cedric, and Madam Hooch are discussing everything, while the rest of the two teams watch. Finally, they decide that since Cedric had caught the Snitch - he hadn't known that Harry was falling through the air, of course - Hufflepuff wins the match. Looking crushed, Oliver heads back into the change rooms. The Hufflepuffs - despite the fact that they won - look rather grim too.

"Can we go and-?" I begin to ask pleadingly to Fred, but he cuts me off.

"Well, duh," he says simply, and we go off, along with the rest of the Gryffindor team, and Ron and Hermione.

This is when I take in everyone's appearance. We're all covered from head to toe in mud, and extremely pale. We walk through the castle, hardly thinking of the mess we're making with all the water and mud, and how upset Filch'll be with us. Once in the hospital wing, I drop down in the chair right next to Harry's bed. I need to know. I can't take this.

I stand up, make my way through the crowd, and walk over to Madam Pomfrey's office. I knock on the door impatiently. She opens it immediately. Good, I don't have the patience to wait today.

"What is it?" she asks.

"Harry," I answer simply. "Is he okay? He's not - you know-"

"Oh, no, dear," Madam Pomfrey assures me earnestly. "He'll be fine. I think he'll wake up in a bit."

"Oh, thank God," I say, sighing in relief. "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."

I head back towards the crowd, and push my way back through the front. Once there, I turn to face everyone.

"He's alive," I say simply.

Everyone sighs in relief, but they're all still pale. I probably am too. Hell, I'm still really uneasy. Despite what she says, we won't all be completely relieved until we all see Harry awake. Around me, everyone talks about how scary that was, and how lucky Harry is to be alive. I wish they'd shut up. They're getting on my nerves. Fred, George, Hermione and Ron aren't speaking though. They're all silent, eyes bloodshot.

Finally, after what feels like two hours, Harry's eyes snap open to reveal those wonderfully familiar bright green eyes.

"Harry!" Fred exclaims in relief. "How're you feeling?"

"What happened?" Harry asks, sitting up so suddenly we all gasp.

"You fell off," Fred answers. "Must've been - what - fifty feet?"

"We thought you died," Angelina adds, shaking.

Hermione makes a small squeaking noise.

"But the match," Harry insists. "What happened? Are we doing a replay?"

Nobody speaks at this. Harry suddenly looks upset.

"We didn't - lose?"

Everyone explains what happens. I can't really do that, since I was hardly paying attention. Fred and George also add that since we're only down by one hundred points, if Ravenclaw beats Hufflepuff and we beat Ravenclaw and Slytherin, we can still win this thing! We can at least be sure that Ravenclaw'll beat Hufflepuff. They're way better than Hufflepuff.

After ten minutes or so, Madam Pomfrey tells the team to leave.

"We'll come and see you later," Fred says. "Don't beat yourself up, Harry, you're still the best Seeker we've ever had."

Fred, knowing I'll want to stay for a bit longer, kisses my forehead - which is the only place that isn't covered in mud.

"You can calm down now, he's all right," he mutters in my ear.

"What d'you mean?" I ask, pretending that my heart isn't racing. "I am calm."

"You're so pale, we could lose you in the snow," Fred points out, smirking.

"Oh," I mutter.

"Yeah," Fred says, mocking my tone in a way that makes me sound incredibly thick.

I nudge him slightly, and, laughing, he strolls out of the hospital wing.

I turn back and concentrate on the conversation once more, to see that it isn't really happening. They're all silent and staring at me.

"Hazel, you do know that we know you two aren't actually a couple, right?" Ron asks.

"Yeah, why?" I ask confusedly.

"Well, that was just an awful lot of flirting going on there," Ron mumbles.

I turn bright red. Harry changes the subject rather suddenly. I don't know if that's to spare me from horrible embarrassment, or because there's a pressing matter on his mind. Maybe both. Either way, I'm glad.

"Did someone get my Nimbus?" he asks.

Ron, Hermione and I quickly look at each other, then look away, knowing very well the fate of Harry's Nimbus.

"Er-" Ron begins.

"What?" Harry asks impatiently.

"Well... when you fell off, it got blown away," Hermione begins.

"And?" Harry asks.

"And, er, well," I begin nervously. "Oh, Harry, it hit the Whomping Willow!"

"And?" Harry asks again, looking like he's dreading the answer. I would be too.

"Well - well, you know the Whomping Willow," Ron says weakly. "It doesn't like being hit."

"Professor Flitwick brought it back just before you came around," Hermione adds.

Did he? I guess I really wasn't paying attention at all... Hermione takes a bag at her feet, turns it upside down at Harry's bed, and a dozen bits of splintered wood and twigs fall onto the bed. Those are the only remains of Harry's ever so brilliant Nimbus 2000.


	18. Off to Hogsmeade We Go!

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Eighteen: Off to Hogsmeade We Go!**

 

Since Madam Pomfrey insists that Harry stays for the rest of the weekend, the Quidditch team - along with Ron and Hermione - go to visit him, along with Oliver this time. Oliver insists - in a rather hollow voice, might I add - that he doesn't blame Harry in the slightest. I have the funny feeling Harry still feels guilty, though. Anyway, after a while, the Quidditch team leaves, but Hermione, Ron and I stick by his bedside until night time, when Madam Pomfrey forces us to leave.

The next day, Harry has to endure remarks from Malfoy, who's beside himself with glee that Gryffindor has lost the match. It takes a lot of self-restraint to not hex him to hell and back so that every time he opens his mouth, bugs will be crawling out. After a torturous Potions lesson, we head down to Defence Against the Dark Arts.

"If Snape is filling in for Lupin again, I'm skiving off," Ron declares. "Check to see who it is, Hermione."

Hermione peers through the door, and I duck out of sight lines from the classroom. Just in case. I'm probably going to skive off if Snape's ~~torturing~~ \- I mean,  _teaching_ \- us again.

"It's okay," she assures us, a noticeable note of happiness in her voice.

Sure enough, instead of Snape, Lupin is sitting at his desk, looking through some papers. As it should be in this classroom. It's obvious he's been ill - or, in his case, off being a werewolf. There're dark shadows around his eyes, and his shabby robes are hanging very loosely off of him. Nevertheless, he's smiling kindly at us.

Lupin, however, is greeted with complaints about Snape, and the homework he gave us. Finally, Lupin says that none of us need to do the essay. Great. Fantastic. I spent three hours doing it, to find out that it didn't have to be done. Brilliant...

"Oh, no. I've already done it!" Hermione says in disappointment.

"If you've already done it, however, I'll mark it for extra credit," Lupin adds, seeing mine and Hermione's disappointed - and in my case, thoroughly annoyed - looks.

I give him a rather awkward smile, and hand him my essay. After that, we all have a really pleasant and entertaining lesson about Hinkypunks. I can't say I'm not pleased that Snape isn't here right now.

At the end of class, over the noise of everyone getting all their stuff, and muttering conversation to their friends, Lupin's voice calling Harry back sounds. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I exchange confused looks, before Harry doubles back. Well, it can't be anything bad. Harry hasn't done anything to get him in trouble with Lupin. At least, as far as I know he hasn't.

 

Time flies by, and soon it's nearly winter break. It's already started to snow, and McGonagall has already gone around collecting names of Gryffindors who're going to stay over the holidays. It's only Harry, Ron, Hermione and I. It's obvious Ron and Hermione are only staying to keep Harry and I company, even though Ron says that he can't stand to be with Percy for two weeks at the moment, and Hermione insists that she needs the library. All lies, but all the same, I'm grateful for their kindness.

To almost everyone's delight, another Hogsmeade trip is scheduled for the last weekend before winter break starts. Harry's not all that excited, of course, because he hasn't got permission to go. And I'm not excited, because, no matter how much I want to go, I won't be going. The moment I set foot in Hogsmeade is the moment my best friend does. Harry tries to convince me to go this time, but I'm too stubborn to even let him finish a sentence. Eventually, he gives up.

The morning of the Hogsmeade trip, Harry and I say goodbye to Ron and Hermione, and head back up the stairs to the common room. I'm planning to catch up on my school work, because all my homework's really starting to pile up, and I've started to gave to stay up late to finish it all. Which I don't like at all. Harry, on the other hand, will be looking through  _Which Broomstick_ , looking for a potential new broomstick.

"Psst - Harry, Hazel!" a voice hisses.

I jump about a foot in the air, draw my wand hurriedly, turn on the spot, and point my wand at the source of the noise. To my relief, it's only Fred and George, who're hiding between a statue of a humpbacked, one-eyed witch. I also realize that I'm pointing my wand directly in front of Fred's neck, and if I say any incantation right now, he'd either die, or be seriously injured.

"Woah, I was only trying to talk to you," Fred laughs, putting his arms up in a mock-surrender.

Blushing, I lower my wand, and try to laugh it off.  _Smooth move_ , I think to myself,  _way to be in perfect position to murder your crush. What a way to make him like you back..._ _  
_

"Hey, I was only defending myself!" I insist, laughing. "For all I knew, you could've been Sirius Black!"

"What're you doing?" Harry asks curiously. "Why aren't you going to Hogsmeade?"

"We've come to give you a bit of festive cheer before we go," Fred says, with a mysterious wink. Dammit. Why couldn't he be ugly? Then I would be at less risk of staring at him... "Come in here."

He nodded toward a classroom to the left of the stature. Harry and I follow Fred and George inside. George closes the door, then turns, beaming, to face Harry and I.

"Early Christmas present for you, Harry," George informs him.

Fred pulls something out of his cloak with flourish, and puts it on one of the desks. It's a large, square, very worn out piece of parchment. While Harry looks at the thing sceptically, I stare up at them in shock.

"You're giving this to him?" I ask in disbelief. "Who knew you lot could be  _this_ generous."

Harry looks to me as if I'm mental. I give him a look that says, "You'll see." then turn back to Fred and George.

"And what's that supposed to mean, Knight?" George asks, pretending to be offended.

"just that you wouldn't let me even  _touch_ the map for four months. Even then, I couldn't actually hold it until a month later..." I point out. "And this is the first time he's seeing it, and you're all like, 'Here, have it!'."

"Jealous, are we?" Fred asks, smirking.

"Of course not," I say absently. "I think it's brilliant you're giving it to Harry. I'm only saying..."

"Do any of you mind telling me what you're talking about?" Harry asks impatiently, pointing at the parchment, which is actually the one and only Marauder's Map.

"We're talking about the secret to our success," George answers matter-of-factly, patting the parchment fondly.

"It's a wrench, giving it to you." Fred insists. "But last night we decided your needs are greater than ours."

I smile at them. They really are really sweet and kind when they want to be. But they're very good at hiding it with being hilarious gits.

"Anyway, we know it off by heart," George adds. "We bequeath it to you. We don't really need it any more."

"And what do I need with a bit of old parchment?" Harry asks.

"A bit of old parchment?!" Fred and I repeat incredulously, mortally offended.

"Explain, George," Fred adds.

"Well, when we were in our first year, Harry - young, carefree, innocent-"

Harry and I snort in disbelief. I doubt Fred and George were ever innocent, and it's obvious Harry agrees with me. Hell, anyone who knows Fred and George would, too.

"-well, more innocent than we are now - we got into a spot of bother with Filch."

"We set off Dungbombs in the corridor and it upset him for some reason."

"Gee, I wonder why," I say sarcastically, grinning.

"So he hauled us off to his office, and threatened us with the usual-"

"-detention-"

"-disembowelment-"

"-and we couldn't help but notice one of the drawers in his filing cabinet labelled  _Confiscated and Highly Dangerous_ -"

"Don't tell me," Harry says, grinning.

"Well, what would you've done?" Fred asks. Fair enough. "George caused a diversion by dropping another Dungbomb, I whipped the drawer open, and grabbed  _this_."

"It's not as bad as it sounds, you know," George adds. "I don't think Filch ever found out how to work it. He probably just guessed what it was and confiscated it."

"And you know how to work it?" Harry asks sceptically.

"Oh, yes," Fred answers, smirking. "This little beauty's taught us more than all the teachers in the school."

"You're winding me up," Harry says. "All of you."

"Oh, are we?" I ask mysteriously.

George takes out his wand, taps the parchment with it lightly, and says, " _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_."

At once, the familiar thin ink lines begin criss crossing each other gracefully across the parchment like a spider web coming together. It fanned to every corner of the page, and at the top in curly green letters, a wonderfully familiar message blossoms.

 

_Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs, and Lupis_

_Purveyors of aide to Magical Mischief-Makers_

_are proud to present_

_THE MARAUDER'S MAP_

 

 

I grin as Harry, looking astounded, bends over the map to examine it more closely. I glance at the map myself, and notice something I hadn't noticed before. There're several secret passageways, and they all lead-

"Right into Hogsmeade," Fred says, finishing my thoughts, and running his finger up one of the passages. "There're seven. Now, Filch already knows about these four-" he points them out "-but we're pretty sure we're the only ones who know about  _these_. Don't bother with the one behind the mirror on the fourth floor. We used it until last winter, but it caved in - completely blocked. And we don't reckon anyone's ever used this one, because the Whomping Willow is planted over the entrance. But this one leads straight into Honeydukes. We've used it loads of times. And as you might've noticed, one of them is right outside this room, through that one-eyes old crone's hump."

"Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs, and Lupis," George sighs, patting the heading. "We owe them so much."

"Noble men, working tirelessly to help a new generation of lawbreakers," Fred insists solemnly.

"And they have some pretty wicked nicknames, too," I add. "I wish I had a nickname that cool."

"I still think Hazey suits you better," Fred says, grinning.

"Right," George says briskly. "Don't forget to wipe it after you've used it-"

"-otherwise anyone can read it," Fred finishes.

"Just tap it with your wand again, and say ' _Mischief Managed_!' and it'll go blank," I inform him.

"See you in Hogsmeade," they say, then walk away, smirking in satisfaction.

Immediately, Harry and I go to the statue of the one-eyed witch. Once we figured out how to open the hump, we slide through. After lighting our wands to see in the pitch black passage, we make our way along it, tripping and stumbling on the uneven floors.

After what feels like an hour, we finally make it to the staircase. This staircase leads to the cellar of Honeydukes. We sneak into the shop, and look around the place in awe. These are the most delicious-looking sweet I've ever seen in my life! Imagine the look on Dudley's face if he saw that we're here right now!  We find Ron and Hermione, and after we buy some chocolate we explore Hogsmeade.

It's bloody freezing and I'm extremely cold, but the beauty of Hogsmeade - which looks like a Christmas card - distracts me a bit. I make a visit to Zonkos and buy a lot of stuff, including presents for Fred and George.

Finally, we go for a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. Ron has a bit of a crush on Madam Rosmerta, a pretty, curvy sort of woman. How cute.

Out of absolutely nowhere, Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Hagrid and Cornelius Fudge enter the pub! I push Harry under the table, and Hermione uses a clever little charm to levitate the Christmas tree behind us to hide us.

The things they talk about nearly make my heart stop. Sirius Black... he was best friends with James Potter... like brothers... inseparable... he was James' best man... after all that... he betrayed him and Lily... he's the reason they're dead... he was their secret keeper... he gave the secret after hardly a week... traitor... Harry. Oh, God, Harry! How is he taking all this? Ron, Hermione and I peer at him from under the table, at a loss for words.


	19. Why Can't It Just Be Christmas?

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Nineteen: Why Can't It Just Be Christmas?**

 

The walk back through the tunnel to Hogwarts is the shortest one of all time. But the silence is so heavy, it presses against my eardrums. Ron, Hermione, and I keep giving Harry nervous glances during dinner, but don't dare to talk about what we overheard, since Percy is very close by. I tried determinedly to change the subject to get everyone's mind off things but stop when I realize it's not working.

When we enter the crowded common room, we find Fred and George setting off half a dozen Dungbombs to celebrate the end-of-term. Normally, I would laugh at this, but now, considering everything that's on my mind, I just smile weakly. And it feels forced. Harry slips off quietly to the boys' dormitories, clearly not wanting to talk. Fred and George come to talk to me, but I just can't focus all that well. My head still pounding with the information.

"What's wrong?" Fred asks, obviously noticing that I'm not myself right now.

"Nothing - nothing you should be concerned about," I reply, smiling reassuringly, though the smile's fake.

"Clearly it is," George adds. "We thought you'd be crazy hyper from all the sugar you must've had at Honeydukes."

"That's what I'd think, too," I admit. "I'm just tired. I'm going to bed. G'night."

"Night," they mutter, and I hurry upstairs to my dormitory.

I don't know how long it takes, but I must've fallen asleep at one point, because I open my eyes after what feels like hours, light shining through the window. The door slams, and I sit up, and look around. The dormitory's empty except for Hermione, who's brushing her brown, busy hair.

"Morning, Mione," I greet groggily, pushing some of my dark hair out of my eyes.

"Morning, Hazel," she says. "I was just about to wake you. Thanks for saving me all that trouble."

"No problem," I say brightly, laughing.

I get dressed, brush my hair lightly, and walk downstairs. People are standing around with their trunks, talking quietly, giving each other gifts... Oh, yeah, I should probably give Fred and George their gifts. I hurry upstairs, grab their gifts, then go back downstairs. I look around the common room, and find them talking to Angelina and Katie.

As I didn't buy gifts for Angelina and Katie, I decide to wait until they've stopped talking to them. I walk over to join Ron and Hermione, who look deep in conversation. It's always a nice change to have them having a pleasant, civil conversation instead of their usual fighting.

"-so, anyway, I decided to let him sleep," Ron's saying, "considering everything, it's best to keep him alone."

Must be talking about Harry. Who knew Ron could be so tactful? I'm kidding, of course, but hey, Ron isn't exactly the most tactful person in the world.

"Good idea," Hermione says.

"Should we wait, or go down to breakfast?" I ask.

"Let's just go down, we can explain later if he wakes up," Hermione decided.

"Exactly," Ron adds.

"All right," I mutter.

As we cross the common room, I notice that Fred and George are now alone. Might as well give them their presents now.

"I'll catch up with you guys in a second," I tell Ron and Hermione, and skip over to Fred and George.

I sort of stumble when I'm nearly in front of them, and Fred and George notice it. Of course. How come they never notice when I'm actually graceful? Probably because I never am...

"If it isn't the ever so graceful, Hazel Knight," George says, snickering.

"That's me!" I say brightly, grinning. "Hazel Knight, most poised. Anyway, Happy Christmas."

I hand them their presents.

"Thanks, Hazey," Fred says, grinning.

"No problem," I say. "And don't think of opening it before Christmas. It'll ruin the magic."

"And what makes you think you can stop us? We can open it as soon as we get on the carriages if we want," George says.

"And we will," Fred adds.

"You won't," I insist. "Because I put a jinx on it that expires Christmas morning. Meaning is anyone opens it any time before Christmas morning, you'll get a bit of a nasty shock."

That, is a lie, but they needn't know that. At least, not until after Christmas. Hey, it'd ruin the magic of Christmas morning! And besides, we do this kind of stuff all the time.

"That's cruel and unusual," Fred says, laughing.

"But it's better to open them on Christmas day," I insist. "It's all for your own good, really. And since when have I ever been normal?"

"Still cruel," George says, laughing. "But a very good point; you've never been normal. Anyway, he're your gifts."

They each hand me a box. When Fred hands me his gift, I hear giggling from the corner of the common room. Slightly confused, I turn to the source, and roll my eyes. Lavender and Parvati. Should've known...

"Honestly, you'd reckon they'd get over it by now," I mumble, "but noo,"

"It's getting a bit annoying, to be honest," Fred agrees.

" _Getting_?!  _A bit_?!" I exclaim. "We passed 'a bit' and 'getting' ages ago! Where've you been?"

"Don't be rude, Knight," Fred says, winking.

"Why, too much for you?" I counter, smirking.

"Of course not, I'm Fred Weasley," Fred says, clearly loving the banter between us as much as I am.

"Which is exactly why it's too much for you," I counter. "Everyone besides yourself knows that you're not the bad-ass you think you are."

"Oh, and you think you are?" Fred asks challengingly, as we head down to the Great Hall for breakfast - Fred and George had used a Banishing Charm to make my gifts fly over to my dormitory.

"More than you'll ever be," I reply.

"In your dreams, Knight," Fred insists.

"And in real life, Weasley," I add matter-of-factly.

"You're delusional," he says.

"Says the one who thinks he, Fred  _Weasley_ , is bad-ass," I retort.

"I'm only speaking the truth, doll," Fred insists.

"You do realize nobody else is around, right?" George cuts in. "No need to flirt so much."

"We weren't flirting, Georgie," Fred insists. "At least,  _I_ wasn't. Can't speak for Hazel. But we'll shut up for you."

"Don't get your hopes us," I tease, "I  _so_ wasn't flirting."

"Whatever you say," Fred and George say at the same time.

After that, we change the subject. Fred and George do most of the talking, me only contributing a bit every now and then. But I'm lost in thought about one thing.  _Fred called me 'doll'_. He didn't say it in the shallow way some guys say it, as if girls are just some object. He was teasing me, but he sounded kind of sweet. I hate to admit it, but I wish he'd always call me that. And I sincerely hope with every fibre of my being that I'm the only person he's ever called 'doll'. That it's not something he says to every girl. That it's his special nickname for me, and me only. Does that sound selfish? Sorry if it does.

Once in the Great Hall, I sit next to Hermione, and Fred and George sit across from us. After breakfast, we all go to see Fred and George off. I hug the both of them, ending with Fred. Of course, I have that desire to never let go, but of course, I have to. He kisses my cheek, and when he pulls away, his face is so close to my own I have to resist the huge desire to snog him senseless.

"Happy Christmas, then," I say, after snapping out of it.

"A little early there, Knight," Fred and George inform me in unison.

"Don't be cheeky," I tell them, grinning. "You know what I mean."

Once they leave along with the rest of the huge mass of students, Ron, Hermione and I head upstairs to the common room. Hermione turns to us matter-of-factly.

"So, we need to decide what we're going to say to Harry when he finally comes downstairs," she says.

"How about 'hello'?" I suggest.

"Don't be cheeky," she says, mocking my voice. "After yesterday, we need to talk about Black. And since we have all of Gryffindor to ourselves, now's not a good time."

"All right, fine, what did you have in mind, then?" Ron asks, sitting down on one of the armchairs by the fire.

"We just have to tell him not to do anything stupid," Hermione answers simply, as she sits down on another, and I plop down on another armchair.

"Like what?" I ask.

"Like go after Black," Ron answers, as though that should be obvious.

"D'you guys know Harry?" I ask incredulously. "If he wants to go after Black - hell, if he wants to do anything - a little pep talk won't make anything different. I dunno if he wants to, but I do know that he's stubborn. If he wants to go after him, then it'll take a lot more than that to stop him."

"Well, it wouldn't hurt to give it a shot," Hermione insists.

"All right, go on, then," I sigh.

However, as I don't necessarily agree with this, I only pay attention enough to know when I'm acknowledged, and nod and mutter words of agreement as a response. They finally stop rehearsing, apparently, as Hermione says something about catching up on her school work. I should probably do that, too. I hurry upstairs along with Hermione, and grab my bag, and together, we head back downstairs.

Ron, on the other hand, takes out some candy from Hogsmeade, and begins eating that. I snatch a Chocolate Frog out of his hands and stuff it in my mouth.

"Thanks, Ronald," I say brightly.

"Don't you have your own?" Ron snaps.

"Yes, but it's upstairs, and your is right there," I reply cheekily. "So I figured it'd just be easier to take a bit of yours."

"Don't be cheeky," Ron says, mocking my tone.

"Why does everyone mock me?" I ask.

"You make it so easy," Ron retorts, grinning.

Laughing, I sit down at a table and begin scribbling away at my History of Magic essay. Hermione, on the other hand, spreads her homework out on three different tables. Crookshanks spreads out by the fire like a big, ginger rug. Hours pass by, with occasional conversation being made. It's nearly lunchtime when Harry finally enters the common room.

"Harry, you - you look terrible," Ron says as a greeting.

You can always count on Ron to be just oh so tactful. It's true, of course, Harry doesn't look his best, but you don't just tell someone that. Especially as a good morning. Especially considering the circumstances.

"Where is everyone?" Harry asks.

"Gone! It's the first day of the holidays, remember?" I say.

"It's nearly lunchtime," Ron adds, watching Harry closely. "I was just about to wake you in a minute."

Harry slumps into the chair that Hermione was in previously.

"You really don't look well, you know," Hermione insists, peering anxiously at Harry's face.

"I'm fine," Harry says. Lies. It doesn't take much to realize that.

"Harry, listen," Hermione says, glancing at Ron and I, "you must be really upset about what we heard yesterday. But the thing is, you mustn't go and do anything stupid."

"Like what?" Harry asks. Here it comes.

"Like go after Black," Ron answers sharply.

"You won't, will you?" Hermione asks anxiously, when Harry doesn't reply.

"Because Black's not worth dying for," Ron adds.

"D'you know what I hear every time a Dementor comes near me?" Harry finally asks. Ron, Hermione and I shake our heads apprehensively. "I can hear my mum screaming and pleading with Voldemort. And if you heard your mum screaming like that, just about to be killed, you wouldn't forget it in a hurry." I look down at the floor at this, because I know  _exactly_ what he's talking about. And I've even seen it. In my dreams. My nightmares. I envy Ron and Hermione more than I can say. I wish I could be like them, to have no idea what it's like to hear your mum screaming, just before she dies. Have no idea what it's like to see. "And if you found out someone who was supposed to be a friend of hers betrayed her and sent Voldemort after her-"

"There's nothing you can do!" Hermione exclaims, sounding stricken. "The Dementors will catch Black and he'll go to Azkaban and - and serve him right!"

"You heard what Fudge said," Harry counters, "Black isn't affected by Azkaban like normal people are. It's not a punishment to him like it is for the others."

"So what are you saying," Ron asks, his voice tense. "That you want to - to kill Black or something?"

I look up at this, eyebrows raised.

"Of course he doesn't!" Hermione bursts, looking panicky. "Harry doesn't want to kill anyone, do you, Harry?"

Again, Harry doesn't answer. I have to admit, now I'm very worried. Black is dangerous, and obviously a very skilled wizard. Harry, while a great wizard, only has two and a half years of knowledge in magic. Black has a full seven years, and must know some Dark Magic from Voldemort. The chances of Harry winning in a fight are horribly small...

"Listen, you know what Pettigrew's mother had gotten after Black had finished with him?" Ron asks impatiently. "Dad told me - the Order of Merlin, First Class, and Pettigrew's finger in a box. That was the biggest bit of him they could find. Black's a madman, Harry, and he's dangerous."

"Harry,  _please,_ " Hermione pleads, tears shining in her eyes now. " _Please_ be sensible. Black did a terrible, terrible thing, but d-don't put yourself in danger. It's what Black wants..."

"Hermione's right," I agree, speaking for the first time. "You'd be playing right into his hands if you went out looking for him, Harry. Black has seven years of training in Hogwarts, and probably knows tons of Dark Magic. And it's like Ron said, he's mad and dangerous. Please don't go and put yourself in danger because of him, and  _please_ don't become a murderer just for a horrible, vile piece of scum like him. He's not worth it."

"Not worth it? Because of that vile, horrible piece of scum-" Harry begins angrily.

"I know very well what he did," I interrupt, "and I understand very well you're upset, but you shouldn't go off and murder him because of that. Dementors suck out every good feeling, all the happiness in your life until you're some sort of empty shell. Maybe they haven't had much of an affect on Black yet, but I have a feeling they will eventually. They just need to catch him. And that is much worse than death. That's what a traitor like him deserves."

"Look," Ron says, looking around for a change in subject, when Harry doesn't reply, "it's the Holidays! It's nearly Christmas! Let's go down and visit Hagrid. We haven't visited him in ages!"

"No," Hermione says quickly. "Harry isn't allowed to leave the castle, Ron-"

"Yeah, let's go," Harry interrupts, standing up. "Then I can ask him why he never mentioned Black when he was talking about my parents!"

"Or we could have a game of chess," Ron adds hastily, since more talk about Black is not what he had in mind, "or Gobstones. Percy left a set-"

"No, let's visit Hagrid," Harry turns down firmly.

So we get our cloaks, and set through the portrait hole, down the empty castle, and out the oak front doors. We make our way slowly down the lawn, leaving a shallow trench in the glittering snow, the hem of my cloak freezing. Hagrid's cabin looks like an iced cake. Ron knocks on the door, but there's no answer.

"He's not out, is he?" Hermione wonders out loud, shivering, as I put my ear against the door.

"That's a weird noise," I announce, as I'm hearing a series of low, throbbing moans, "Is - is that Fang?"

Harry, Ron and Hermione all put their ears against the door as well. They're expressions turn from curious to confused, just like how mine probably did.

"Think we should go get someone?" Ron asks nervously.

"Hagrid!" Harry yells, thumping on the door. "Hagrid, are you in there?"

There's the sound of heavy footsteps, then the door creaks open. Hagrid's standing there, and quite frankly, he looks a mess. His eyes are red and swollen, tear splashing on the front of his leather vest.

"You've heard?" he bellows, then throws his arms around Harry's neck.

Under normal circumstances, someone who looked as wild as Hagrid sobbing and hugging people might look a bit odd and funny, but for one thing; anyone who knows Hagrid knows he's not purposely dangerous. For another, Hagrid is twice the size of a normal human, and is probably squeezing Harry to death. Ron, Hermione and I come to Harry's rescue by seizing Hagrid by an arm and heaving him back inside. Sobbing uncontrollably, he allows himself to be steered to a chair, and slumps over on the table.

"Hagrid, what is it?" Hermione says.

"What's this, Hagrid?" Harry asks, pointing to an official-looking letter on the table.

Hagrid's sobs redouble, but he shoves the letter to Harry, who reads it aloud.

" _Dear Mr. Hagrid. Further into our inquiry into the attack by a Hippogriff on a student in your class, we have accepted assurance from Professor Dumbledore that you bear no responsibility from the regrettable incident._ "

"Well, that's okay, Hagrid," Ron says, patting Hagrid's arm. Hagrid robs loudly in reply.

"It'll be worse," I mutter. Hagrid sobs even louder, but gestures for Harry to continue.

" _However, we must register our concern about the Hippogriff in question. We have decided to uphold the complaint of Mr. Lucius Malfoy and this hearing will therefore be taken to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. The hearing will take place on April 20th, and we ask you to present yourself and your Hippogriff at the Committee's office in London at that date. In the meantime, the Hippogriff should be tethered_."

After that, Harry just reads of a list of the school governors. I can't believe this! Buckbeak is innocent! He's not dangerous! It's Malfoy's fault for not listening! Harry, Ron, Hermione and I all make suggestions in which Buckbeak could get off, but I know deep down, that the chances are one in a million. I have a feeling everyone in this room knows it.

Even so, Harry, Ron, Hermione and I go to the library the next day, and take all the books that can help up prepare a defence for Buckbeak. We look through the books for days, while the usual gorgeous Christmas decorations are being put up, and a delicious smell of cooking from the kitchens wafts through the castle, distracting me for several minutes until Hermione snaps me out of it. God, why can't it ever be peaceful? Why can't I just relax, and goof around with Harry and Ron, and talk for hours about anything with Hermione? Why can't it just be Christmas?


	20. Christmas

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Twenty: Christmas**

 

On Christmas morning, I wake up first. As usual. No matter where I am, out of all my friends, or whoever I'm spending Christmas with, I  _always_ wake up first on Christmas morning. Even at the Martins, when I was still treated like scum, I did. I love Christmas with everything I have. It's always been my favourite holiday. Especially now at Hogwarts, and Christmases are more enjoyable, with all my friends.

I stand up, and find a small pile of Christmas presents around my bed. The same pile I've seen for the past two Christmases. I smile broadly at them, already grateful for the unknown contents of them. I pick up a lumpy parcel from Mrs. Weasley, and find a thick, purple Weasley jumper with a Quaffle on it. I smile, and put on the warm jumper. I love Weasley jumpers. I eat the bit of fudge as well. It's delicious. As usual.

I should probably wake up Hermione now. I walk over to her bed, and touch her shoulder to shake her awake. Her eyes fly open before I can even start to shake her. From shock, I let out a tiny scream, and fall backwards on my bum. Ouch. I completely forgot how much of a light-sleeper Hermione is!

"Bloody hell, Hermione!" I gasp, as I get to my feet. "I swear it's not natural to be such a light-sleeper!"

"I'm sure you're overreacting," Hermione insists calmly. "are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine, thanks," I assure her. "But I'm not overreacting! Nobody wakes up from someone touching their shoulder!"

"That's  _so_ not that happened," Hermione protests.

"Is to!" I insist.

"Anyway," Hermione says. "Happy Christmas. My present's the one on the far left."

"Thanks for the present, whatever it is," I say. "And same to you! My present's on the top."

"Hazel! Oh, my God!" Hermione exclaims, staring at the present I gave her. "I've wanted this book for  _ages_!"

"I know, you were always going on about it," I assure her. "I reckoned it'd be pretty stupid to  _not_ get it for you."

"Thank you so much!" she exclaims, hugging me.

"No problem," I say, smiling happily, seeing how much she likes it.

I open her present, and find a hairbrush encrusted with little diamonds. I'm slightly confused, but grateful for the present all the same. But still, why would I need a hairbrush?

"It's got a charm on it. It does whatever hairstyle you want it to," Hermione answers for me, sensing my confusion. "I know how much you literally can't stand - and don't understand - doing your hair, so I thought that'd suit you better."

"God, thank you so much," I say gratefully. "None of that stupid stuff that Lavender and Parvati go on about. I don't even understand how that works."

"No problem," Hermione replies, laughing.

We open the rest of our presents. I got a couple of pictures of Harry and I from Harry, a brilliant book on Quidditch from Ron, this wicked cool prank set that I somehow managed to miss at Zonkos - which I quickly hid from Hermione - and a very simple little beaded bracelet from Fred.

"Why're you smiling like that?" Hermione asks, with a cheerfully curious look.

It's at that moment that I realize I've been grinning like an idiot at the bracelet for a very long time. I can feel myself blushing furiously, and look down at the floor, playing with the bracelet all the while.

"No reason," I mumble, embarrassed.

Hermione, however, snatches the bracelet out of my hands, and looks at it. A smirk spreads across her face. I can feel myself blushing even more.

"Did  _Fred_ get you that?" she asks.

"So what if he did?" I say. "What does it matter?"

"Maybe that he's starting to actually fancy you back?" Hermione suggests sarcastically.

"Don't be ridiculous," I insist. "He doesn't. I just know it. He's probably just fully realized that I'm a girl."

"You're impossible sometimes," Hermione informs me.

"You mean right?" I correct suggestively.

"Whatever," Hermione says, with the ghost of her smirk still on her face.

I change into my dark jeans and combat boots, and together, we go down to the common room. Hermione takes Crookshanks - who has a string of tinsel around his neck, and is looking particularly grumpy - with her. The common room's completely empty.

"Do you reckon they've gone down to breakfast?" Hermione asks, speaking of Ron and Harry, of course.

"No, they'll be upstairs," I reply confidently. "Come on."

We walk upstairs to the boys dormitories quite casually. Of course, we're not  _supposed_ to be here, but who's going to tell, really? Who's even going to know to tell? Everyone in Gryffindor who knows won't care. You know, as there are only four of us...

When we walk in, we find Harry, and Ron laughing hysterically about some unknown thing. It looks quite odd. So, is this what I look like when I start laughing uncontrollably? Good, I really do hope not.

"What're you two laughing at?" Hermione asks.

"Don't bring him in here!" Ron exclaims, clearly referring to Crookshanks.

Ron snatches up Scabbers from the depths of his bed, and stows him in his pocket. But Hermione isn't listening. She drops Crookshanks onto Seamus' empty bed, and walks over, open-mouthed. Why, though?

"Oh,  _Harry_! Who sent you  _that_?" she sighs.

"Sent him what?" I ask, walking forward.

My mouth drops open in shock. The Firebolt. Someone sent Harry a  _Firebolt_. Bloody. Hell. A  _Firebolt_. Who would send him something like that? It's the fastest broom in the world, it must be so expensive.

"Bloody hell! Who sent you that, Harry?!" I exclaim.

"No idea," Harry answers, shrugging. "There wasn't a card on it or anything."

To my surprise, Hermione doesn't seem nearly as excited or intrigues as I am about this news. In fact, her face falls, and she bites her lip nervously. Uh oh, This  _can't_ be good.

"What's the matter with you?" Ron asks her.

"I don't know," Hermione answers slowly, "but it's a bit odd, isn't it? I mean, this is supposed to be quite a good broom, isn't it?"

"It's the best broom there is, Mione!" I say exasperatedly.

"So it must've been really expensive," Hermione continues slowly.

"Probably more expensive than all the Slytherin brooms put together,"  Ron agrees happily, however, I'm staring suspiciously at Hermione.

"What're you playing at?" I ask, though I have a funny feeling I know  _exactly_ what she's playing at.

"Who'd send Harry something so expensive... and not even say who sent it?" Hermione concludes.

"Who cares?" Ron asks impatiently. "Listen, Harry, can I have a go on it once? Can I?"

"And me after?" I add sheepishly. "Please?"

"I don't think anyone should ride that broom just yet!" Hermione exclaims shrilly.

Harry, Ron and I all look at her like she's insane. But, hey, she did just suggest an insane idea. How can we not ride this broom? It's a bloody  _Firebolt_!

"What d'you think Harry's going to do with it?  Sweep the floor?" Ron says.

Before Hermione can even open her mouth, however, Crookshanks leaps from Seamus' bed, right onto Ron's chest.

"GET - HIM - OUT - OF - HERE!" Ron yells, as he attempts to rip off Crookshanks, while Crookshanks slashes at his chest, and Scabbers makes a desperate attempt to escape.

"Crookshanks, no!" I exclaim, pulling him off of Ron, and holding him back. "Ron and Scabbers are our friends, not food, or something you can scratch the living hell out of.  _Friends_. Not toys and food.  _Friends_. Okay?"

Crookshanks still struggles, but when I start scratching his ears, he finally calms down. Thank God, otherwise he would've torn the bloody room apart. I finally notice that a tiny, shrill whistling is filling the room. Isn't it that Sneakoscope that Ron gave Harry for his birthday? I look around, and find it on the floor, a few inches away from the socks that Harry used to store it in.

"I forgot about that!" Harry exclaims, bending over and picking it up. "I never wear those socks if I can help it..."

"You better take that cat out of here, Hermione," Ron says furiously, rubbing a toe that he managed to hurt while trying to wrestle off Crookshanks. "Can't you shut that thing up?" he adds to Harry, as I hand Hermione Crookshanks, and she strides out of the room, Crookshanks' yellow eyes still fixed maliciously on Ron.

Harry stuffs the Sneakoscope into his socks, and throws it back into the trunk. Now all I can hear is Ron's moans of pain and rage. Scabbers is still huddled in Ron's hands, and after getting a close look at him for the first time in a while, I'm unpleasantly surprised at how much he's changed. Scabbers was once so fat, but now he's terribly skinny, and patches of fur seem to have fallen out as well.

"He's not looking too well, is he?" Harry says, clearly noticing his change in appearance as well.

"It's stress!" Ron exclaims. "He'd be fine if that big stupid furball left him alone."

But wasn't Scabbers already feeling ill  _before_ Crookshanks came along? It may be contributing, but it can't be the  _full_ reason. And don't normal rats like Scabbers only live three years? If so, either Scabbers has some secret powers, or he's finally reaching the end of his life.

The Christmas spirit that I always love and look forward to is pretty low on the ground this morning. Hermione had locked Crookshanks in our dormitory, but is furious at Ron for trying to kick him. And Ron's still angry for Crookshanks' attacks in his dormitory. Harry and I have given up trying to make piece between them, and dedicate our time to admiring his Firebolt. This seems to annoy Hermione too, as she keeps giving the broom dark looks. I'm starting to be more certain that my hunch is right.

Lunchtime finally arrives, and when we go to the Great Hall, we find that the House tables have been moved to the side again, and replaced with a single table set for thirteen. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout and Snape are there, along with Filch. There're only three other students; a sullen faced fifth year Slytherin, and two extremely nervous-looking first years.

"Happy Christmas!" Dumbledore says as we arrive at the table. "As there are so few of us this year, I thought it'd be foolish to have our House tables... Sit down! Sit down!"

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I sit down side by side in the four remaining seats.

"Crackers!" Dumbledore offers enthusiastically, handing one to Snape, who tugs it reluctantly. With a bang like a gunshot, the cracker falls apart to reveal a large, pointed witch's hat topped with a stuffed vulture.

Harry, Ron and Hermione all stifle their laughter. I, on the other hand, am completely unable to do that, and burst out laughing. I quickly cover my mouth again, but everyone's already staring at me. Snape gives me a look of pure hatred, which I return with a smirk and raised eyebrows. Everyone else, on the other hand, just looks amused. I swear Dumbledore even winked at me! Snape's mouth thins, and slides it back over to Dumbledore, who swaps it for his normal hat at once. I grin at him.

"Dig in!" the latter cries, beaming around at us all.

As I help myself to a bit of turkey, the doors of the Great Hall burst open. It's Professor Trelawney, gliding toward us as though on wheels. She put on a green sequin dress in honour of Christmas, but in my opinion, it just makes her look more like a giant, glittering insect.

"Sybill, this is a pleasant surprise!" Dumbledore exclaims, standing up.

"I have been crystal gazing, Headmaster," Trelawney says in her most misty, faraway voice, "and to myself abandoning my solitary luncheon and joining you."

"Yeah, right," I whisper to Harry, "I bet she though the food here smelt better than the food she's got."

Harry stifles his laughter, as Dumbledore draws up a chair out of thin air with his wand. It falls with a thud between Snape and McGonagall. I nearly burst out laughing again. Dumbledore put her in the worst place! Trelawney does not sit, though. Instead, she looks around the table, horrified.

"This table! This table has - has thirteen people! Nothing is more unlucky! Never forget that when thirteen dine together, the first to rise is the first to die!"

"We'll risk it, Sybill," McGonagall says impatiently. "Now sit down, the turkey is getting cold."

Professor Trelawney casts us all a grim look, then sits down. She closes her eyes dramatically, and I use this time to roll my own. Could she just eat her damn lunch already?

"Where is dear Professor Lupin?" Trelawney asks, once she finally opens her eyes.

"I'm afraid the poor fellow is ill again," Dumbledore answers, indicating for everyone to start serving themselves.

Hermione and I cast each other dark looks. "Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas Day."

"But surely you already know that, Sybill?" Professor McGonagall says, eyebrows raised.

"Certainly I knew that, Minerva," Trelawney says quietly, giving McGonagall a cold look. "But one does not parade that fact that they are All Knowing. I frequently act as though I don't possess the Inner Eye so as not to make others nervous."

"That explains a great deal," I mumble, the same time as McGonagall says it straight to Trelawney.

"If you must know, Minerva, I've seen that Professor Lupin will not be with us for much longer," Trelawney snaps, her voice quite a bit less mistier, "he seems aware, himself, his time is short-"

"Well, duh, there's that curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts job," I whisper.

"He positively fled when I asked to crystal gaze for him-"

"Understandable," I mumble.

"Imagine that," McGonagall says dryly.

"I doubt," Dumbledore begins in a cheery, but raised and firm voice, "that Professor Lupin is in any immediate danger. You've made that potion for him, Severus?"

"Yes, Headmaster," Snape answers immediately.

"Good, then he should be up and about in no time," Dumbledore says. "Derek, have you had any of the chipolatas? They're excellent."

One of the first year boys goes completely red by being addressed directly by Dumbledore, and takes the sausages with trembling hands. I smile at him, holding back a slight chuckle.

Trelawney almost acts normally for the rest of lunch, until Harry, Ron and I stand up from the table, full with lunch, and singing Christmas carols.

"My dear! Which one of you got out of their seat first? Which?" she shrieks loudly.

"I doubt it will make much difference," McGonagall says coldly, "unless a mad axe-man is waiting to slaughter the first one into the Entrance Hall."

Even Ron laughs at this. But Trelawney, of course, looks highly affronted.

"Coming?" I ask Hermione, still laughing a lot.

"No, I want a quick word with Professor McGonagall," Hermione replies quietly.

"All right," I say, and Harry, Ron and I head out to the Entrance Hall, which is mad axe-man free.

"Probably to see if she can get more classes," Ron yawns.

I nudge him, smiling slightly. We tell the password to a drunk Sir Cadogan, and we all go straight to Harry and Ron's dormitory to get Harry's Firebolt, along with his broomstick servicing kit. However, this broom is perfect. Absolutely perfect. There's nothing to fix" So we end up staring at the thing until Hermione enters, followed by Professor McGonagall. This can't be good. Hermione walks past us, picks up the nearest book, and buries her face in it. I look at her, confused.

"So, that's it?" Professor McGonagall asks, staring at the Firebolt. "Ms. Granger has informed me that you've received a broom, Potter."

We look over at Hermione, and see her forehead reddening over her upside down book.

"May I?" McGonagall asks, but takes it without an answer, and starts examining it. "Hmm. There was no note? No message? No anything?"

When Harry says no, McGonagall says something that convinces me she's insane. That she needs to take it. And strip it down. To be checked for jinxes. So, my hunch was right. Hermione thinks Sirius Black sent the Firebolt. So she told McGonagall. And McGonagall agrees. Ugh. It's obvious there're no jinxes! Sirius Black couldn't have sent that broom! How could he do that whilst on the run?

" _What did you go running to McGonagall for_?!" Ron shouts at Hermione, once McGonagall leaves.

Hermione throws her book on the floor and stands up. She's still pink in the face, but faces Ron very defiantly.

"Because, I think - and Professor McGonagall agrees with me - that that broom was probably sent to Harry by Sirius Black!"

Yup. I was right. Unfortunately...


	21. The Fallout

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Twenty-One: The Fallout**

 

I know Hermione only meant well by telling McGonagall, but I still can't help but resent her a bit. I mean, it's a Firebolt! The fastest broom in the world! And now it's going to be stripped down, and a lot of jinxes are going to be put on it. Who knows what it'll look like afterwards! But, as I have nothing against her personally, I'm not mad at her. But I still have to remind myself that we only meant well quite a bit.

Harry and Ron, on the other hand, are openly furious with her, so Hermione starts avoiding the common room. Meaning that I have to go back and forth from being with Harry and Ron, to being with Hermione. Which sucks a lot, since it's Christmas break, and we should all be together. When I'm with Ron and Harry, we goof around, but whenever he sees Crookshanks, Ron goes into a furious rant about him, that least to a furious rant about Hermione. I just tune it out, because I've recently realized how much their fights affect Hermione.

Whenever we're not in the library researching information to help prepare Hagrid's trial, and doing homework, we're at Hagrid's hut. Hermione usually does the talking, talking about anything that crosses her mind. She always ends with Ron and Harry. And she always cries when she brings them us. I can't even explain how hard it is to see Hermione cry. You get this mad desire to destroy whoever made her cry.

All in all, I'm really relieved when everyone returns after the New Year. I decided to spend the last day before term starts away from Harry, Ron and Hermione. Don't get me wrong, I love them to death, but when there's a sight between them, and you have to keep alternating between them, you just need to get away from it all for a bit.

So, after breakfast, I enter the common room, which is once again crowded, I look around for Fred and George, as they're my escape from the fight between Harry and Ron, and Hermione.

"How could you?" Fred yells to me as greeting over the noise.

"How could I what?" I shout back, confused.

"Cheat on me with George!" he shouts.

What the hell? What is Fred doing? I stare at Fred confusedly, until I seee a small smirk of satisfaction on his face, as he looks around the common room. I follow his gaze, and realize that some are looking confusedly between Fred and I, while most give me accusing glares. I also notice that the common room is dead silent. Oh, so Fred's catching everyone off guard. Including me. So, what's how he wants to play it? Bring it on, Weasley.

"Well, as you're identical twins, it's a bit hard to tell you two apart," I reply calmly.

"That't no excuse!" Fred says furiously. "We've been together for ages! We've known each other for years! You should be able to tell us apart!"

"Well, you've known your family quite a bit longer than you've known me, but they have trouble telling you both apart sometimes, too," I point out. "I thought that you'd realize that if your family has trouble telling you two apart, then I would too. Maybe I overestimated your intelligence, and understanding."

"You've been able to tell us apart for ages," Fred snaps. "It's a little hard to believe that you've suddenly forgotten! You should know me."

"I thought I did know you! But apparently not!" I exclaim, raising my voice. "The Fred I thought I knew would've realized that people make mistakes. The Fred I thought I knew would've realized that this isn't entirely my fault! The Fred I thought I knew wouldn't have shouted about this in front of the entire common room! So maybe if you stopped acting like a different person all the fucking time these days, I'd be able to tell you and George apart."

"Don't give me any of that!" Fred yells.

"What, the truth?" I retort, raising my eyebrows. "Well, sorry if you can't handle it, but I thought I'd better not lie."

"Why not?" Fred shouts. "You've already cheated on me with my twin brother!"

"So I went to kiss you and kissed your identical twin brother instead. So-rry!" I exclaim, making my fake crime sound less bad than it is.

"You should be! You're my girlfriend!" Fred shouts.

"For now, but if you keep changing like this, maybe not for long." I shout. "It's not like I'm the only one screwing up, here! I know exactly what you've been hiding from me."

What Fred has been hiding, I don't really know, but it has the desired effect. A few people look accusingly at Fred, too. It's not just at me. Some people look even more confused, though.

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" Fred shouts, but the deer-in-the-headlights look he has due to his lack of retorts makes him look even more guilty than he actually is. Perfect. Time to give this git what he deserves. Or at least, some of it.

"Really? I think you do!" I shout. "I thought I should let you know, that I know. So, don't go around thinking I'm the only one who messed up. You've done some fucked up things yourself. I'm just not yelling about it to the entire common room."

"That's not even the point! Don't change the subject!" Fred exclaims. "Don't go off snogging my brother while you're dating me!"

"It's not my fault  _George_ is a good kisser!" I snap, then turn on my heel, and storm out the common room.

That complete bastard! How dare he catch me off guard like that! I hope I get him on his own. That way I can hex him into oblivion. I storm through the corridor, trying to think of a logical reason as to why he'd do that. I come to no conclusion. Okay, I'll ask him why he did that, then I'll hex him into oblivion.

After a few minutes, I hear footsteps. I freeze on the spot, hoping it's Fred. I hear mumbling, and recognize it as Fred's voice. Brilliant! I duck into a nearby passageway, and draw my wand. I'll surprise him. When he's directly on the other side of the passage, I open the door, grab his collar and pull him in. I slam him against the wall, point my wand at his neck, and put my face inches in front of his. Under most circumstances, I'd have to resist the urge to snog him if I ever did this, but now, it's really quite easy.

"What the  _hell_ what that?!" I snap. "You go around, insisting that we pretend to be a couple, then make everyone think I cheated on you with George? Is that how you think it's going to work? Because if you do, you've got another thing coming!"

"Calm down, Hazel! Did you see their faces? It was hilarious!" Fred protests, looking nervously at my wand.

" _Hilarious_?  _HILARIOUS_?!" I shriek. "They all think I'm some sort of slut now!Oh, how funny! Good one, Fred!"

"It's not like they didn't already think that!" Fred points out.

"How thick are you?" I snap. "That was different! They were just jealous! Now they have a basis for it! As far as they know, I was going out with you, and then I cheated on you with George! Your twin brother!"

"I think you're overreacting," Fred snaps, now getting genuinely mad. That sets me off completely.

" _Overreacting_?!" I shout. "Me? Overreacting?! It's not that I'm overreacting, you've just taken this too fr!"

"Calm down," Fred hisses, "or someone'll hear us."

"GOOD!" I yell. "Let them hear! I want them to hear! Then maybe more people'll realize how much of an asshole you actually are, Fred Weasley. And don't you dare make me mad then tell me to calm down! That's like stabbing someone and telling them to stop bleeding! I know you're over the top sometimes, but seriously? What the actual fuck is wrong with you?!"

"Maybe if you thought for a second, you'd realize that there's nothing wrong with me, and that you just need to lighten the fuck up!" Fred shouts.

" _No_ , you just need to learn when to stop. And if you're going to go do a prank that involves someone, to get their permission to do it!" I retort.

"I knew you wouldn't have agreed!" Fred insists, thoroughly annoyed and angry right now.

"Then you should've fucking respected that, then!" I snap.

"I don't even get why you're so mad! You're the one who won that round!" Fred exclaims.

"How stupid are you?!" I exclaim. "I'm mad because I didn't  _want_ that to happen! I didn't even want us to start fake dating! I'm mad because they all think I'm a slut. I'm mad because you're a stupid, inconsiderate bastard! Remember when you told me third year is when you create your reputation? Well, now I'm the slut who kissed a boy's twin brother while she was dating him! Thanks, Fred, I really owe you one!"

"It's not my fault you can't tell people to shut the hell up about you!" Fred snaps.

"You complete - why would you - how could you-" I yell, unable to speak coherently through my danger. "How dare you?!"

"Easily, as it's only the truth!" Fred snaps.

And that's when I lose it. Forget wands, I'll use my bare hands to hurt this complete asshole. I draw my fist back to punch him directly in the face. I'm not even thinking straight right now. Not thinking about how much I'm going to regret this. Now that I'm about to punch one of my best friends - the guy I fancy. No. I'm just thinking about how much I want to punch him right now.

However, just as my fist is about to connect with his face, the door to the passage flies open. Standing on the other side are George, Harry, Ron and Hermione. For about ten seconds we stare at each other, my fist still poised to punch Fred's face. Then, I turn back to punch Fred, but Harry and Ron rush forward, grab my arms, and drag me back. Is struggle against their grip, but it's useless.

"Let me go! Let go!" I shout. "Let go now!"

"We will if you don't try to punch Fred again!" Harry offers.

"Not happening!" I snarl. "Now let me go!"

"Get him out of here." Ron tells George.

George takes Fred's arm, and drags him away, Fred muttering in a bad-tempered way. When Fred and George are a good distance away, Harry and Ron let me go. Unable to hit the one I actually want to hit, I start punching every bit of Ron and Harry I can reach.

"What - the - hell - did - you - guys - do - that - for!" I snap, punctuating every word with a blow.

"Ouch! You were - ouch! about to hit - ouch! - my brother - ouch!" Ron says, shielding himself with his arms.

"Only - because - the - prat - deserves - it!" I snap, hitting Ron particularly hard.

"You don't mean - ouch! - mean that - ouch!" Harry insists, looking at me in the eyes for a second.

"Yes - I - do!" I shout, hitting Harry particularly hard this time. "That - entire - scene - in - the - common - room - was - a - part - of - his - stupid -  _prank_!"

"Wait, that fight in the common room was his idea of a joke?" Hermione asks in disbelief.

"Yes!" I snap.

"Well, still, it's only a laugh," Ron mutters.

I give him the most murderous stare possible. He opens his mouth to correct himself, but I cut him off before he can speak.

"Whatever," I snap, and storm upstairs to the common room.

Not all to my surprise, when I enter the common room, I'm greeted with hateful and accusing stares.

"Hey, Knight!" some random fifth year boy shouts. "Who're you off with now? Fred or George?"

"The little slut's probably off to do both," some fourth year girl announces.

There's a mixture of laughter and comments of agreement. Fred's words echo in my head. " _It's not my fault you can't tell people to shut the hell up about you!_ " And I realize, the reason that set me off so much is because it's true. I don't tell people to shut up about me. I can't.

"I'd rather do my homework, than do them," I say calmly.

"Which is why you snogged them both," a friend of the fourth year says.

"Which is why I'm with neither of them, actually," I correct.

Fred's by the fire, brooding. I catch his eye for a split second. I give him a 'Thanks a lot' look, and flounce to my dormitory. I flop down on my bed, and replay mine and Fred's conversation in the passageway in my head. His words echo in my head painfully. I can't describe how badly I want for everything to be okay again. For us to have some meaningful conversation that makes our relationship stronger, and to just go back to being best friends who always joke around. I want that more than I want us to genuinely go out and be a couple. Of course, I know all I need to do is apologize. But my pride won't allow me. Besides, after all that, he should apologize first!

Hermione and Ginny have to drag me down to lunch. I'd rather say alone in my dormitory and brood. I'm assuming Hermione informed Ginny of all that happened. At lunch I find that the entire school is updated as well, but not completely, like Ginny is.

I'm completely silent, while everyone talks. I play and poke at my food. This isn't like me. I'm always talking during mealtimes. I usually stuff my face. I'm actually hungry, too. But I'm just too upset to bring myself to eat anything right now.

I look up, and for a couple of seconds, Fred catches my eye. In those seconds, nothing exists but him, me, and our past. I try to keep my face emotionless, so that he doesn't know how much I want him to come over to apologize. But then he looks quickly back at his food, and my heart shatters with disappointment.

I make myself mad at Fred. I can't afford to be heartbroken. It's easier to be mad at someone, than be heartbroken about them. I poke around with my food for a few more minutes, and finally push my plate away. I'm going back to my dormitory to brood some more. I tell Hermione and Ginny where I'm going, and stand up. My way, however, is blocked by Fred and George.

"I have to go," I say immediately and coldly, before Fred can even open his mouth. "See you later,  _George_."

I look at Fred pointedly, but my expression melts off immediately when I look at him. His eyes. Those dark brown eyes, which are usually alight with laughter and happiness, are filled with sadness and disappointment. My expression turns sad. Heartbroken. Shattered. But I change it back to cold immediately. I can't let him know that I'm not mad at him any more. That I'm not mad at him so quickly. I can't let him know that all he needs to do is have those puppy dog eyes and I'll do anything. I walk around the, and walk quietly toward the Great Hall doors.

"Hazel, wait!" Fred calls, but I don't listen, and quicken my pace.

Once in the Entrance Hall, I collapse against the wall, and take deep breaths, blinking back tears. I stand back up, and walk up the great marble staircase. However, his face swims into view, and tears threaten to fall out again. I run up the rest of the steps, but trip on the last one. I try to get it together, but when I stand back up, I'm still a mess.

I run through the corridors, shout the password to Sir Cadogan, burst into the common room, run across the common room, rush into my dormitory, collapse onto my bed, and start sobbing freely. Why does this have to be so hard? Why couldn't I just've seen the funny part in this? Why did I have to get so mad? Why did I have to lose my temper? Why did I have to drive Fred to the edge like that? Why can't I just apologize? Why didn't I just let Fred talk? He could've been about to apologize!

"Me and my stupid pride," I mutter.

Why does this have to happen to me with the guy I fancy? Why does the guy that I fancy have to be  _him_? Why is fancying someone so hard, anyway? Out of everything I've dealt with, I think crushes are the worst. And I've dealt with a lot.


	22. Firebolts and Drama

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Firebolts and Drama**

 

I don't go down to dinner. I don't feel like eating. Hermione and Ginny keep insisting, but I refuse so stubbornly, that eventually they give up and leave. I sit on my bed, thinking it all through. My regret builds more and more. My sobs finally stop. But I don't stop thinking about Fred.

Hours later, I open my eyes groggily. I guess I'd fallen asleep at one point, still in my jeans, combat boots, and plaid shirt. I get up, walk over to the bathroom, and look at my reflection. My hair's a mass, and my eyes are still slightly pink, but it's nearly unnoticeable.

I get ready, then go wake up Hermione, since, for once, I'm the first to wake up. As usual, she wakes up the moment I touch her, but I see it coming this time.

"Morning," I say.

"Good morning," she greets. "How're you feeling?"

"Better," I lie.

I think Hermione can tell that I'm lying, but she sees that I don't want to talk about it, so she drops the subject, and goes to get ready. Halfway through Hermione getting ready, Lavender wakes up. She glares at me.

"You know what, they were right," she informs me, "Fred deserves better than you."

"Great for then, but I don't really remember asking their opinion," I retort, "or yours, for that matter."

She glowers at me once more, then goes to wake up Parvati, who glares at me as well. I roll my eyes, and give them a particularly rude hand gesture. They look very offended. Good.

Once Hermione's finally ready, I grab my bag, and we head out. Across the common room, to the Great Hall for breakfast. A good part about this, is that I'm not very hungry, and stuff my face with everything I can reach. Hermione smiles at my small return in normal behaviour.

The first lesson we have is Care of Magical Creatures, which is surprisingly enjoyable. We spend two hours collecting dry wood and leaves to keep a fire blazing while flame-loving salamanders scamper up and down the logs. Then Hermione and I use the time-turner to go back and have Arithmancy. This is probably my least favourite subject, but it's still fairly enjoyable as well. Next s Divination, which isn't as much fun. Professor Trelawney is now teaching us palmistry, and she wastes no time in telling Harry that he has the shortest life lines she's ever seen. Defence Against the Dark Arts was by far the best class of the day, in my opinion.

After class, Hermione and I are walking to dinner together, and she's stuffing her Defence Against the Dark Arts book back into her bag, when all the books topples out. It's not the first time it's happened to either of us, with our bags so full. We duck behind a suit of armour, and together, we start putting books back in.

"Still looks ill, doesn't he," Ron says to Harry, as they walk past us. "What d'you reckon's wrong with him?"

"Tuh!" Hermione says loudly and impatiently, and I nudge her.

"And what are you tutting at us for?" Ron asks irritably, as I finally manage to cram the last book into her bag.

"Nothing," Hermione says loftily, as we stand up.

"Yes, you were," Ron insists. "I said I wonder what's wrong with Lupin, and you-"

"Well, isn't it  _obvious_?" Hermione interrupts, with a look of maddening superiority, that if I didn't know myself, I'd feel very annoyed with her.

"If you don't want to tell us, then don't," Ron snaps.

"Fine," Hermione says haughtily, then marches off.

"She doesn't know," Ron insists, staring resentfully at Hermione. "She's just trying to get us to talk to her again."

"No, she actually knows," I inform them, "and it'd help if you guys lay off her a bit."

"Why should we? It's her own fault!" Ron exclaims.

"She was just trying to help," I insist. "And I'd have thought your friendship with her was a bit more important than Scabbers and brooms. Even if it is the fastest broom in the world."

With that, I hurry off after Hermione so that she's not walking all alone. At dinner, Fred walks past me. His facial expression goes from happy, to both sad and angry. I bite my lip, and blink quickly for a second, then look quickly to stare blankly at my plate. When I look back up at him, Fred turns away immediately. Once again, I hate myself. Why do I have to make things so bad?

Later, on Thursday of that week, I'm partly talking to Ron, and partly doing my Ancient Runes essay. Mostly the essay, but Ron doesn't mind, as he's doing his own Potions essay.

"Her, Hazel, look," Ron says, nudging me, and ruining my 'r' in the process.

"Dammit, Ron, what?!" I snap, looking up at him.

"Sorry, but McGonagall's in here," Ron says.

I follow his gaze and see that he's right. McGonagall is standing in the common room, holding the Firebolt. Excitement wells up inside me.

"Ron, she's got the Firebolt!" I hiss. "You don't reckon Harry can have it back?"

"I hope so!" Ron whispers back. "Let's go see!"

We stand up to walk over to her, but apparently other people notice McGonagall carrying the Firebolt as well. People whisper to their friends, who shout across the common room, and before I know, everyone is crowding around McGonagall.

"Who's is it?"

"Can I just touch it?"

"Who's it for?"

"Why do you have it?"

Ron and I give each other annoyed looks, and walk up behind the crowd. We take deep breaths, then start pushing our way through the crowd. Some people are very annoying, and I have to actually push them out of my way sometimes. Once we finally get to the front, my robe sleeves are hanging off my shoulder, and my hair is falling over my face. Ron burst through beside me just as I finish fixing my hair and robes. We turn to speak to McGonagall, but McGonagall opens her mouth before we can, clearly annoyed.

"Back away at once! And be quiet, while you're at it!" she snaps.

Every obliges immediately, including Ron and I. I look around the common room for a second, and Hermione stands out very well. Why? Because she's the only one still sitting down, doing homework, and generally not looking excited.

"Now," McGonagall continues, "do any of you know where Harry Potter is?"

"So, he can have it back, then?" I ask excitedly.

"Yes," McGonagall answers, smiling. "We've done everything we could to it, and there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with it it at all."

While people all around are muttering about how the broom is Harry's, and asking if they think Harry will let them have a go on it, Ron and I exchange excited glances.

"And Harry isn't in here, by the way," I add to McGonagall, then check the watch Ron gave me two years ago for my birthday. "He'll probably be on his way back, though."

"Thank you, Ms. Knight," McGonagall says, and walks out of the common room.

As soon as McGonagall leaves, people start bombarding Ron and I with questions. Apparently, some people had forgotten that they think I'm a slut in their excitement.

"Where did he get that?"

"Did someone send it to him?"

"Why did McGonagall take it away?"

"Why would there be anything wrong with it?"

"I don't think we're supposed to tell any of you," I snap.

I have no idea is this is true or not, but I'd rather not answer all their questions, and I'm sure Ron feels the same way. Slowly, everyone starts going back to their lives, and Ron and I exit the common room to look for Harry.

"He'll be done his Anti-Dementor lessons, right?" I ask Ron for reassurance, as we turn down a random corridor.

"Yeah, probably," Ron confirms.

Suddenly, I hear voices. McGonagall's voice... and Harry's! She must be giving him the Firebolt. I nudge Ron, and cock my head to the source of the noise. Suddenly, we hear vague footsteps coming our way. That'll be Harry! Ron and I start running in the direction of the noise, and just as we're dashing down a corridor, Harry turns a corner. Our corner.

"She gave it to you?" Ron asks. "Excellent! Listen, can I still have a go on it? Tomorrow?"

"Me as well?" I add sheepishly.

"Yeah... anything..." Harry says. "You know what - I think we should make up with Hermione - she was only trying to help..."

"Yeah, all right," Ron agrees, while I beam at Harry. "She's in the common room now - working - for a change..."

We turn into the corridor for Gryffindor Tower, and see Neville pleading with Sir Cadogan, who seems to be refusing to let Neville in. I roll my eyes. Not this again...

"I wrote them down somewhere!" Neville insists tearfully. "But I must've dropped them somewhere..."

"A likely tale!" Sir Cadogan roars, then spots Harry and Ron. "Good evening, my fine young yeomen!" he greets, but then spots me, and his face turns to one of disgust. "And,  _you_ ," he turns back to Harry and Ron. "Come clap this loon in the irons. He is trying to force entry to the chamber within!"

"Oh, shut up," Ron says, as we draw level with Neville.

"I've lost the passwords," Neville tells us miserably. "I made him tell me what password he's going to use this week, because he keeps changing them, and now I don't know where I've put them!"

"Oddsbodkins," Harry says, and Sir Cadogan reluctantly swings open to let us in.

As soon as we enter, there's a sudden, excited murmur as every head turns to face Harry. Next moment, people are crowding around us again, asking Harry about his Firebolt. After about ten minutes, in which the Firebolt is held and admired from every angle, the crowd disperses, and Harry, Ron and I can finally get a clear view of Hermione, who once again is the only person who hasn't rushed up to admire the Firebolt. She's bent over her work, and carefully avoiding Harry and Ron's eyes. Only when we approach her table, does she finally look up.

"I got it back!" Harry announces, grinning and holding up the Firebolt.

"See, Hermione? There wasn't anything wrong with it!" Ron says.

"Well, there could've been! I mean, at least you  _know_ now that it's safe!" Hermione insists.

"She's got a point," I say fairly.

"Yeah, I suppose so,"" Harry agrees. "I'd better put this upstairs."

"I'll take it!" Ron offers eagerly. "I have to give Scabbers his rat tonic."

He takes the Firebolt, and holding gingerly as if it's made of glass, takes it upstairs to the boys dormitories.

"Can we sit down, then?" Harry asks,

"I suppose so," Hermione replies, moving a high stack of parchment off a chair.

"How're you getting through this all?" Harry asks.

"Oh, you know, working hard," Hermione answers.

Yeah. Working hard, time travel, and staying up late at night to finish all our homework.

"Why don't you just drop a couple of subjects?" Harry asks. "Both of you?"

"I couldn't do that!" Hermione exclaims, scandalized.

"I'm probably going to drop Arithmancy at the end of the year," I admit, "I just want to get through the exams first. Pride thing."

"Why?!" Hermione asks, looking shocked.

"I just don't really like it," I reply, shrugging.

"Arithmancy does look terrible," Harry admits, picking up one of the number charts.

"Oh, no, it's wonderful!" Hermione insists. "It's my favourite subject! It's-"

But what Arithmancy is, and what Hermione thinks is so wonderful about it, Harry may never find out, for at that exact moment, a strangled yell echoes from the boys dormitories. The whole common room falls silent, staring, petrified at the door to the staircase. Then comes hurried footsteps, louder and louder, until Ron bursts into the common room, dragging bedsheets with him.

"LOOK!" Ron bellows, striding over to Hermione. "LOOK!" he yells, shaking the bedsheets in her face.

"Ron, what-?"

"SCABBERS! LOOK, SCABBERS!"

Hermione's leaning away from Ron, utterly bewildered, just like everyone else. Harry and I look down at the sheet Ron's holding. There's something red on it. Something that looks horribly like-

"BLOOD!" Ron shouts into the stunned silence. "HE'S GONE! AND YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT WAS ON THE FLOOR?"

"N-no," Hermione says in a trembling voice.

Furious, Ron throws something down onto Hermione's run translation. Harry, Hermione and I lean forward. Lying on top of the weird, interesting, spiky shapes, are several long, ginger cat hairs. I've never seen Ron this mad before. Harry and I exchange nervous glances, wondering exactly the same thing. Has Ron and Hermione's friendship come to an end?


	23. Let's Do This

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Let's Do This**

 

I'm starting to worry that this is the end of Ron and Hermione's friendship. Each is so angry at the other I just can't see them making up again. Ron is enraged that Hermione never took Crookshanks' attempts to eat Scabbers seriously, hadn't bothered to keep a close enough watch on him, and still pretended that Crookshanks was innocent by suggesting that Ron look under the beds for Scabbers.

Hermione, meanwhile, is maintaining fiercely that Ron has no proof that Crookshanks has eaten Scabbers, that the ginger hairs might've been there since Christmas, and that Ron has been prejudiced against her cat since he landed on Ron's head in the Magical Menagerie.

If I'm completely honest, I think Crookshanks eating Scabbers is the only explanation for everything. It only makes sense. But I have no plans on telling Hermione this, considering how mad she got at Harry when he fairly pointed this out to her.

Ron's taking the loss of Scabbers very hard. Just like I expected. Even though he always talked about how useless Scabbers was, it was clear by how upset he would get with Hermione that he would miss him terribly if he died. And now Scabbers  _has_ died. Fred, George, Ginny, Harry and I all try to make him feel better. Might I add, this is the first time that I'm near Fred since that day before term started again. Though George, Ginny, and Harry are all between us.

"Come on, Ron, you were always saying how boring Scabbers was," Fred says bracingly, "and he's been off-colour for ages, he was wasting away. It was probably better for him to snuff it quickly - one quick swallow - he probably didn't feel a thing."

Oh, how tactful. I bite my lip to keep myself from making the sarcastic remark I really want to make. I don't want to makes things with Fred any worse than they already are.

" _Fred_!" Ginny says indignantly.

"All he did was eat and sleep, Ron, you said it yourself," George points out.

"He bit Goyle for us once," Ron says miserably. "Remember, Harry? Hazel?"

"Yeah, that's true," I say, exchanging reminiscent glances with Harry.

"His finest hour," Fred declares, unable to keep a straight face. "Let the scar on Goyle's finger be a lasting tribute to his memory. Oh, come on, Ron, get yourself down to Hogsmeade and get a new rat, what's the point of moping?"

Of course, this idea doesn't help at all. In an attempt to cheer Ron us, Harry invited Ron to the last practice before our match against Ravenclaw - Ravenclaw  _did_ beat Hufflepuff - so he could have a go on the Firebolt when we're done. This cheers Ron up for a moment, so that evening, Ron joins Harry and I as we head over to the Quidditch pitch.

Madam Hooch, who is overseeing Quidditch practices to make sure Harry's safe, is just as impressed with the Firebolt as everyone else. She rants about brooms for a while, until Oliver reminds her that we need to practice. She finally gives the Firebolt back to Harry, and she, along with Ron, head to the stadium to watch practice. Oliver gives us a speech about tomorrow's match.

"Harry, I've just found out who the Ravenclaw Seeker is. It's Cho Chang. She's a fourth year, and pretty good. I really hoped she wouldn't be fit, she's had some problems with injuries in the past..." Oliver scowls at Cho making a full recovery. "On the other hand, she rides a Comet Two Sixty, which'll look like a joke compared to your Firebolt."

"Let's not forget, Harry isn't the youngest Seeker in the century for nothing," I add, beaming at Harry and putting an arm around his shoulders.

"Right. Okay, everyone, let's go." Oliver says.

We mount our brooms, and kick off into the sky. I glance over at Harry, to see how flying on the Firebolt looks like, and can't believe it. It looks like the best thing in the world! I watch, slightly mesmerized by the brilliance of the broom as Harry turns so sharply Angelina screams, then goes into a perfectly controlled dive, brushing the ground with his toes, before rising high into the air again. When Wood lets the Snitch out, Harry catches it in a matter of ten seconds!

By far, this practice is the best one we've had. At least, ever since I joined the team. I think the presence of the Firebolt inspires us all a little more, and we perform all our moves flawlessly. Even Fred and I play in complete synchronization and Quidditch harmony, despite the fact that we've been slightly off since our fight. In fact, when we land back on the ground, Oliver has absolutely no criticism for any of us, which, as George points out, is a first.

"I can't see what can stop us tomorrow!" Oliver exclaims. "Unless - Harry, you've sorted out your Dementor problem, right?"

"Yeah," Harry replies.

"The Dementors won't show up, Oliver," Fred insists. "Dumbledore'll go ballistic."

"Well, let's hope not," Oliver says. "Anyway - let's go back to the tower, everyone. Turn in early. Good work, everyone!"

"We're staying out for a bit," Harry tells Oliver, pointing at me, and then himself. "Hazel and Ron want a go on the Firebolt.""

So, while the rest of the team heads down to the changing room, Harry and I go to meet Ron, who vaults over the stands to meet us. Madam Hooch is currently asleep.

"Harry, could I go first? Only, I have homework to finish up..." I ask sheepishly.

"Yeah, of course," Harry says, handing the broom to me.

I mount it, and kick off into the air. It's indescribable how amazing it is. It's like it reacts to my thoughts, rather than my grip! It speeds across the field so quickly that everything else turns into a blur. I let out a scream of delight, and let go of the broom with both hands for a few seconds, before quickly grabbing onto it again, so I don't fall off.

Eventually, I land back on the ground, and run back to Harry and Ron, grinning broadly.

"Bloody hell, this thing is brilliant!" I exclaim. "Absolutely brilliant! You're so lucky! Thanks a million, Harry!"

"No problem," he says, laughing.

I hand the broom over to Ron, who eagerly takes it and takes off into the sky. I watch him for about a minute or so, but then realize that I really need to go do that homework.

"I'm going to go now," I tell Harry, still watching Ron. "See you in the common room."

"See you later," Harry says, waving, and I run over to the changing room.

Of course, everyone's gone. I change quickly into jeans, a plaid shirt and combat boots, and run over to the castle. I run up the steps, two at a time, but of course, end up landing on the trick step. I fall straight through, and end up stuck. Ugh. Not this again. I put my hands on the stair in front, and start trying to pull myself up, but to no success. It's so much harder than it looks.

My hand ends up slipping, and my leg sinks deeper into the hole. Painfully. Finally, I hear footsteps. I turn my head desperately toward the source of the noise. It's Fred. All by himself. Of course. Just my damn, bloody luck. It's either stay here for who knows how much longer until someone else comes along, or lose a bit more pride. Then again, I just fell for the trick step again, when I really should no petter. Really, my pride is non-existent at this point.

"Er, Fred? A little help, please!" I whisper. Come on, Hazel, he'll never hear you like this. "Fred! A little help, please!"

Fred turns around, confused, then spots me. Or, at least, the upper half of my body that's still visible. A smile plays across his lips, a smile that threatens to turn into a laugh, but then it turns into a blank sort of expression. He walks over, and offers his hands. I hold them with my own, and my heart starts racing. I hate how stupid I am. How could I still fancy him? He pulls me out of the hole, and I scramble on the step he's on. We look at each other awkwardly for a few seconds.

"Why're we like this?" Fred finally asks.

"Well, I mean, I nearly punched you, and screamed at you," I point out sheepishly.

"Yeah, but we've fought before," Fred points out.

"Once, and that only lasted a day. And wasn't nearly as bad," I counter.

"But still. I'd have thought everything'd be back to normal by now," Fred says.

"That's what I've been hoping," I blurt out. Then cover my mouth in horror.

"You - you have?" Fred asks, suddenly looking happy. But then his expression turns sad. "Then why have you been avoiding me?"

I look away, biting my lower lip. Truth or lies? Truth. He deserves to know the truth. I look back up at him nervously and sheepishly.

"Because I'm too bloody proud for my own good," I answer bluntly. "I had too much pride to say that I'm sorry, and that I want us to be friends again."

"So, why're you telling me this now, then?" Fred asks, confused.

"You just found me stuck in the trick step that I should know to jump by now. What little pride I had left is now gone," I say, smiling.

He laughs a little, then stops, staring at me questioningly.

"So what now?" Fred asks. "We both want things to go back to normal, so are they back to normal?"

As much as I desperately want to say yes, I can't. I honestly can't. Something - something just doesn't feel right. I look up at him sadly, and shake my head.

"No, they're not. Something just doesn't feel right," I admit. "I-I don't know what though!"

"I do," Fred says grimly, "and I'm going to fix it. You can count on that."

"But how? And what're you even talking about?" I ask.

"You'll see," Fred says, then dashes down the steps and out of sight.

I stare at the corner he disappeared through, head tilted slightly to the side, trying to figure out what he's planning. I come to no answers. I'm unbearably curious. Bit I'll find out eventually. Slightly reluctant, all the same, I turn back around and run over to the Gryffindor common room.

As soon as I'm inside, I get my homework, and start working. Hours pass by, but I never stop doing homework. I only stop when I feel a tap on my shoulder out of absolutely nowhere. Surprised, I turn around quickly, and see that it's only Ginny. I sigh in relief.

"You should go to sleep, you'll need your rest for tomorrow," Ginny insists.

"But I've still got to do my Potions essay!" I protest.

"You need your energy," she counters, "you can always finish it later, and besides, you look just about finished anyway. Now come on, off to bed."

"But-" I begin to protest.

"Now, Hazel," Ginny says firmly.

I sigh, close my Potions textbook, roll up my essay, and shove them in my bag. I follow Ginny upstairs to the girls' dormitories. When we reach the door labelled 'Second Years' I wave her goodbye, and proceed to the door labelled 'Third Years'. I walk in, change into my pyjamas, and crawl into bed. Time for tomorrow's match. Judging by how we played today, we're ready for this.

When I wake up in the morning, I feel nervousness in the pit of my stomach. Today's the match. The match that decides whether or not Gryffindor makes it to the final match against Slytherin. Why didn't I think of this earlier? Now I feel nervous! No worries, Hazel, no worries. Remember our practice, we were brilliant. We'll do fine...

At breakfast, I find that Harry's Firebolt has been put on display at the Gryffindor table. I shake my head and laugh, and sit down next to Ron. Suddenly, Draco Malfoy is at the table. I've actually forgotten about him. I haven't really seen him in a while.

"Sure you can manage that broom, Potter," Malfoy drawls, and I narrow my eyes.

"Yeah, I reckon so," Harry replies coolly.

"Got plenty of special features, doesn't it?" Malfoy says, eyes glittering maliciously. "Shame it doesn't come with a parachute - just in case you get too near a Dementor."

Crabbe and Goyle snigger. I roll my eyes very obviously at them, and open my mouth to say something. But Harry nudges me, and gives me a look that says, 'I got this.' I close my mouth and cock my head to the direction of Malfoy to indicate him to go right ahead.

"Pity you can't attach an extra arm to yours, Malfoy," Harry says casually. "That way it could catch the Snitch for you."

The Gryffindor team laughs loudly. Eyes narrowed, Malfoy stalks away furiously. Malfoy sits next to the rest of the Slytherin team, who put their heads together at once, no doubt asking if Harry truly does have a Firebolt. I laugh loudly at them, and go back to my breakfast.

At quarter to eleven, the Gryffindor team sets off for the locker room. The weather is completely different from the weather during the match against Hufflepuff. Instead of storming, the sky is pale blue, and it's a clear, cool day. There'll definitely be no visibility problems this time. Much better Quidditch conditions, all in all.

We can hear the rest of the school moving into the stadium beyond. I take off my black robes, and put on my Quidditch uniform instead. Just as I finish up lacing up my Quidditch boots, Oliver gives his usual pre-match speech.

"You know what we've got to do," Oliver begins. "If we lose this match, we're out of the running. Just - just fly like we did in practice yesterday. Do that, and we'll be fine!"

We walk onto the field greeted by very loud applause. The Ravenclaw team, dressed in blue, walks toward us from the opposite side of the pitch. Cho Chang, the Seeker, is the only girl on the team. She's shorter than both me and Harry by about a head, and she's really pretty. She smiles at Harry as the captains shake hands, and I look over at Harry to see his reaction. He looks very embarrassed, yet happy, sheepish, and pleased. I smirk slightly. Does my little Harry have a crush on Cho Chang? What awful timing, though. Just as you're about to go up against her in one of the most important Quidditch matches of the year...

Madam Hooch blows her whistle, and we all kick off into the air. Fourteen brooms, all high up in the air. Harry's Firebolt, of course, flies a lot higher than any other broom.  Okay. Now it's time. Time to win this match. There's no other option. We've simply got to win. We've just got to.


	24. The Match and the After-Match

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Twenty-Four: The Match and the After-Match**

 

One of the Ravenclaw Chasers gets the Quaffle right off the bat, so Angelina, Katie and I chase after him. However, while I go straight for him, Angelina flies upward, ready to dive down and grab it, and Katie flies below, ready to trap him. I speed up to him, listening to Lee's commentary.

"They're off, and the excitement is for the Firebolt Harry Potter is flying for Gryffindor. According to  _Which Broomstick_ , the Firebolt's going to be the broom of choice for this year's World Championship-"

"Jordan, would you mind telling us what's going on in the match?" McGonagall snaps, as I catch up to the Ravenclaw, and snatch the Quaffle out of his hands.

"Right you are, Professor McGonagall, I was just giving a bit of background information. The Firebolt, incidentally, has a built-in auto brake, and-" Lee adds, as the Ravenclaw Chasers surround me.

I look around desperately, and see that it's a pretty easy pass to Katie. I throw the Quaffle to her, push them out of my way, and shoot for the goalposts, slightly behind Katie, Angelina flying at the opposite end of the pitch of me.

"Jordan!"

"All right, all right. Katie Bell of Gryffindor in possession, heading for the goal..."

Suddenly, I hear a whooshing sound nearby. By the time I look around, I catch a glimpse of a Bludger zooming towards me, before either Fred or George flies in front of me, and beats it toward the Ravenclaw Chaser who has the Quaffle from the start.

"Thanks," I breathe, as he turns around, and reveals to be Fred. "Probably would've been bleeding quite a bit if it weren't for that."

"Only a little," Fred says, winking. "But seriously, I totally just saved your life."

"Why, thank you," I say, laughing, and speed off back towards Katie.

Katie shoots at the left hoop, and the Ravenclaw Keeper doesn't even come close to blocking it. It goes straight through. The Gryffindor end goes wild. When their cheering becomes louder, I turn around to face the Gryffindor end, to find Harry diving down for the Snitch, Cho closely behind. I want to watch, but I need to focus. I turn back to the game, just as Angelina passes me the Quaffle. The Keeper is so distracted with the Snitch, that I shoot it straight through the middle hoops without him even noticing! With the Keeper being so distracted, we end up shooting another five goals before he finally realized what we're doing.

He's clearly very annoyed at us, but, hey, it's his fault for getting distracted! If he doesn't keep focus, it's not our fault! Since his full attention is now on us, we decided to trick him. Since I have the Quaffle, I pass to Katie, then we switch spots very quickly, then Katie to Angelina, we switch places again. Angelina passes to me, and we switch places. This goes on several times, until Angelina finally scores into the right hoop. The Keeper dives for it, but it goes through.

"Gryffindor leads eighty points to zero, and look at the Firebolt go! Potter's really putting it through its paces now, see it turn - Chang's Comet is just no match for it, the Firebolt's precision - balance is really noticeable in these long-"

"JORDAN, ARE YOU GETTING PAID TO ADVERTISE FIREBOLTS? GET ON WITH THE COMMENTARY!" McGonagall shouts.

I burst out laughing, as I chase after one of the Ravenclaw Chasers, who currently has the Quaffle. You gotta love McGonagall... I don't make it to the Ravenclaw in time. He shoots, and Oliver isn't able to intercept. It's now eighty to ten. Not to worry, we're still ahead...

But after Ravenclaw scores two more points, I start to worry a bit. We're now only fifty points ahead. Cho could catch the Snitch at any time, and if she does, then Gryffindor is out of the running. But, no, Harry's not the youngest Seeker in a century for nothing. He'll catch it before her...

Katie, Angelina and I are having a very fierce battle to score against the Ravenclaw Chasers. Gryffindor is still in the lead, but we need Harry to catch the Snitch, and  _quickly_!

"Oh!" Cho screams, pointing downwards.

I look down at where she's pointing, and nearly have a heart attack. Three Dementors, three tall, hooded, black Dementors, are looking up directly at Harry.

Right away, Harry pulls his wand out of his robes, and shouts, " _Expecto Patronum_!"

An enormous, silver-white stag erupts out of his wand. Harry then speeds off like conjuring something like that is no big deal. I gape at him in shock. That's bloody wicked! It chases after the Dementors, and I realize something strange. Why am I not affected by this? Why isn't Harry affected by this? Why isn't  _anybody_  affected by this?

"Hazel! The Quaffle!" Angelina yells, pointing at the Quaffle tucked tightly under my arm.

"Oh, right! I'm on it!" I shout back, and shoot for the Ravenclaw side.

I shoot the Quaffle clean through the left hoop, just as Madam Hooch's whistle sounds. Somebody caught the Snitch! But who? I look around desperately, and see Harry holding the Snitch triumphantly for a moment, before the rest of the team bears down on him. I grin broadly, and decide to congratulate Harry back on the ground.

I can hear the sound of the entire Gryffindor end cheering loudly as I land. I look around, beaming, and taking it all in. We've won! We're moving on to the final match for the championship! When they all finally land back on the ground, I push through, and fling my arms around Harry.

"That was brilliant!" I exclaim, pulling away and beaming. "All of it! You catching the Snitch - and, that thing! That silver thing! A stag, I think it was. How did you do that?"

But before he can answer, a mob of ecstatic Gryffindor supporters run towards the team, Ron in the lead by quite a bit. Before we know it, the entire team is surrounded by the crowd.

"Yes!" Ron yells, standing between Harry and I, and yanking our arms up into the air. "Yes! Yes!"

More people go to congratulate Harry, and Harry goes off to talk to Lupin. Probably about that silvery thing he used to repel those Dementors with... Ron nudges me, and I turn to face him.

"Hazel, you gotta see this!" he exclaims, grabs my wrist, and drags me over through the crowd. He drags me all the way to the edge of the field, laughing hysterically the whole time. This is quite confusing, if I'm honest. When we finally arrive at the edge, I stare in shock.

Lying in a crumpled heap on the ground are Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Marcus Flint, the Slytherin captain, all struggling to remove themselves from long, hooded black robes. I burst out laughing. Not only because of the awkward position they're in, but at their stupidity. Did they really think that simply  _looking_  like a Dementor was going to make Harry faint? No, there's something about Dementors that humans could never recreate. Especially not humans like Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Flint! Standing over them, with a look of utmost fury on her face, is Professor McGonagall.

"An unworthy trick!" she shouts, as Harry and Lupin join Ron and I. "A low, cowardly attempt to sabotage the Gryffindor Seeker! Detention for you all, and fifty points from Slytherin! I shall make sure Professor Dumbledore hears about this, make no mistake! Ah, here he comes now!"

If anything could make our victory against Ravenclaw any better, this is it. Ron and I double up with laughter as we watch Malfoy fighting to be free of the robe, Goyle's head still inside it.

"Come on, you lot!" George exclaims, fighting his way over. "Party in the Gryffindor common room, now!"

So, all of us Gryffindors head happily for the castle, the Gryffindor team, still in our scarlet robes and Quidditch boots, in the lead.

It's as if we've already won the Quidditch cup. It's clear that the party is going to go on all day and all night. Fred and George disappear for several hours, and return with bottles of butterbeer, pumpkin fizz, and several bags of Honeydukes sweets. I grin. They must've sneaked into Hogsmeade.

"How did you do that?!" Angelina squeals, as George begins throwing Peppermint Toads into the crowd.

"With a little help from Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs, and Lupis," Fred mutters in my ear, but loud enough for Harry to hear. The action sends tingles down my spine.

There's only one person who's not partying with the rest of us. Hermione, incredibly enough, is in the corner, attempting to read a huge book names  _Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles_. Harry and I exchange incredulous glances, then break away from the table were Fred and George are juggling butterbeer bottles to join her.

"Did you even come to the match?" Harry asks her.

"Of course I did," Hermione answers in a strangely high pitched voice. "And I'm very glad we won, and I think you both did very good, but I need to read this by Monday."

"Come on, Mione, have some food or something," I offer.

"I can't, Hazel, I've still got four-hundred and twenty-two pages to read!" Hermione exclaims, slightly hysterical now. She glances over at Ron, and adds, "Besides,  _he_  doesn't want me to join in."

Sadly, there's no denying this, because at this exact moment, Ron chooses to announce very loudly, "If Scabbers hadn't just been  _eaten_ , he could've had some of those Fudge Flies. He used to love them."

Hermione bursts into tears. Before Harry and I can do anything, she tucks the book under her arm, and runs to the girls' dormitories. Now quite angry, I stride over to Ron, and promptly punch him in the arm.

"Ouch! Hazel, what was that for?" Ron exclaims.

"For being a huge prat!" I snap. "I mean, 'Scabbers could've had some'? Really? You don't reckon you're going a bit too far? Not to mention that Scabbers wouldn't have been anywhere near this party if he was still alive! Can't you just give Hermione a break already?!"

"No," Ron says flatly. "If she just acted like she was sorry - but no! She'll never admit she's wrong, Hermione. She's still pretending that Scabbers is just on vacation or something."

Exasperated and angry, I storm away from his to talk to Ginny. The party finally ends when Professor McGonagall, in a tartan dressing gown and a hairnet, turns up at one in the morning to insist that we all go to bed.

Ginny and I go up the spiral staircase, and once again, I wave her goodbye at the door labelled 'Second Years'. I enter my own dormitory, and check to see if Hermione's awake or not. She's on her bed, fast asleep, still in her robes, her book tucked loosely under her arm, and tear tracks glistening on her face. I decide to take the book out her hand, and leave her be for the time being.

I take out my wand, point it at the book, and whisper, " _Wingardium Leviosa_!"

I guide the book carefully out of Hermione's arms, and place it gently on the table. Satisfied with myself, I put my wand on my bedside table, change into my pyjamas, and crawl into bed, pulling the curtains of my four poster around me. But I can't sleep.

I toss and turn, replaying today's match again happily. Then something randomly crosses my mind. Or should I say someone. Fred. I smile slightly, remembering how we're friends again. But then again, things aren't how they used to be. And how they should me. But Fred's going to fix that. What did he even mean? What is he going to fix? I still don't know. It's on the tip of my tongue, though. Whatever it is...

It feels like I've only been asleep for a few, blissful minutes before a yell wakes me up. I prop myself up on my elbows groggily, letting memories from the match and the party that followed rush through me. I smile reminiscently, then remember why I'm even up right now. The yell. My heart starts thumping wildly in my chest, and I'm suddenly very terrified.

I rip open the curtains of my four poster, grab my wand, and whisper, " _Lumos_!"

I point it around the room to see if the yell came from in here. Then I realize three things: the yell sounded too distant to come from here. Two: it was a boy yelling. Three: I know exactly which boy it was.

"Ron," I whisper, horror-struck.

I leap out of bed, just as Hermione, Lavender and Parvati get out of bed. Hermione looks a lot more scared than Lavender and Parvati do. Judging by the look on her face, Hermione's thinking exactly the same thing as I am.

"What's going on?" Lavender asks groggily.

"Who shouted?" Parvati adds sleepily.

"Hazel, you don't think-?" Hermione asks, scared.

"I think so," I answer grimly.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaims.

Together, we burst into the corridor of the girls dormitories, and run down the spiral staircase, and into the common room. Inside, we find Harry, Neville, Dean and Seamus all crowding around a very pale-faced Ron.

"I'm telling you, I saw him!" he's insisting.

I rush forward, Hermione slightly behind me, as she's slightly timid because of how angry Ron is with her. I put an arm around Ron's shoulder comfortingly, and am about to ask what's going on, when more people enter the common room, yawning and rubbing their eyes sleepily.

"What's all this noise?"

"Professor McGonagall told us to go to sleep!"

"Excellent, are we carrying on?" Fred asks excitedly.

I grin at how while everyone is curious and slightly annoyed at the disturbance, Fred is eager to start partying again. Then I make my face look serious again. I catch Fred's eye, give him a half smile, then shake my head, and cock my head slightly at Ron. His face fills with understands, then worry.

"Everyone back upstairs!" Percy orders, hurrying into the common room, and pinning his Head Boy badge to his pyjamas as he spoke. My eyes narrow slightly. Is now really the time to be worrying about a stupid badge?

"Perce - Sirius Black!" Ron says faintly. "In our room! With a knife! Woke me up!"

The common room goes very, very still. My arm tenses against Ron's shoulders.

"Nonsense!" Percy denies, looking startled. "You've had too much to eat. Ron - had a nightmare."

"I'm telling you-"

"Now, really, enough's enough!"

McGonagall's back. She slams the portrait shut behind her as she enters, and stares furiously around at us all.

"I am delighted that Gryffindor won the match, but this is getting ridiculous! Percy, I expected better of you!"

"I certainly didn't authorize this, Professor!" Percy insists, puffing himself up indignantly. "I was just telling them to get back to bed. My brother Ron here had a nightmare-"

"IT WASN'T A NIGHTMARE!" Ron yells. "PROFESSOR, I WOKE UP, AND SIRIUS BLACK WAS STANDING OVER ME, HOLDING A KNIFE!"

McGonagall stares at him in disbelief.

"Don't be ridiculous, Weasley," she says. "How could he have possibly gotten through the portrait hole?"

"Ask him!" Ron exclaims, pointing at the back of Sir Cadogan's portrait. "Ask him if he saw-"

Glaring suspiciously at Ron, McGonagall pushes the portrait hold back open and goes outside to the corridor. The whole common room waits with bated breath.

"Sir Cadogan, did you just let a man enter Gryffindor Tower?" McGonagall asks.

"Certainly, good lady!" Sir Cadogan cries.

There's a stunned silence, inside and out of the common room. I realize I'm squeezing Ron's shoulders, and take my arm off his shoulders.

"You - you  _did_? But - but the password!" McGonagall says in disbelief.

"He had 'em," Sir Cadogan announces proudly. "Had the whole week's, my lady! Read 'em off a little piece of paper!"

Professor McGonagall pulls herself through the portrait hole and back into the common room. She's as white as chalk.

"Which person," she begins, her voice shaking, "which abysmally foolish person wrote down this week's passwords, and left them lying around."

There's complete and utter silence, which is followed by a very small, terrified squeak. Neville, shaking from head to fluffy slippered toes, raises his hand slowly in the air.


	25. So That's What He Was Talking About

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Twenty-Five: So That's What He Was Talking About**

Nobody in Gryffindor is going to sleep tonight. I can tell. We all know that the castle is being searched again, so we all wait to hear the news of whether or not Black has been caught. At dawn, Professor McGonagall comes back to inform us that he's escaped yet again.

All throughout the next day, we can see new signs of tighter security. I see Flitwick teaching the front doors to recognize a large picture of Sirius Black; Filch can be seen bustling up and down the castle, boarding up every nook and cranny of the classroom; Sir Cadogan has been fired, and the Fat Lady is back instead. Thank God.

Though she's been expertly restored, she's still extremely nervous and only returned on the condition that she'd be protected. So, a bunch of surly looking trolls have been hired to guard her. They pace the corridor in a group, talking in grunts and comparing the size of their clubs.

Ron's also become an instant celebrity. For the first time, people are paying more attention to him than they are to Harry, which is obviously a wonderful change for the both of them. Though still rather shaken about what happened, Ron is more than happy to retell the tale to whoever wants to know.

"... I was asleep, and I heard this ripping noise. And I thought it was part of my dream, you know? But then there was this draft... I woke up and one side of the hangings had been pulled over... I rolled over... and I saw him standing over me... like a skeleton, with loads of filthy hair... holding this great long knife, must've been twelve inches... and he looked at me, and I looked at him, and then I yelled, and he  _scampered_..."

"But why, though?" Ron adds to Harry and I as the second year girls he has been telling the story to walk away. "Why did he run?"

I'm wondering exactly the same thing myself. Why hadn't Black killed Ron and moved on to Harry? Black had proved twelve years ago that he doesn't mind killing innocent people to accomplish a mission, and this time he was facing five unarmed boys, four of them asleep.

"He must've realized he'd have a job getting out of the castle after you yelled," Harry says thoughtfully. Fair point.

"That's true," I agree. "He'd have to kill the whole House just to get out of the common room, then there'd be the teachers..."

Neville is in complete and total disgrace. McGonagall is so mad at him, she's banned him from all future Hogsmeade trips, given him a detention, and had forbidden anybody from telling him the passwords. Poor Neville has to wait for who knows how long until somebody else comes, while the security trolls leer dangerously at him. That's not even all the punishments poor Neville has. Two days after the even, Neville receives the worst thing a Hogwarts student can get during breakfast - a Howler.

The owls swoop in as usual, and Neville nearly chokes on his breakfast when a large brown owl lands in front of him, a large red envelope in its beak. Harry, Ron and I instantly feel terrible for Neville, as we all know what it's like to get a Howler, since Ron got one last year after we stole the car.

"Run for it," Ron advises immediately.

Neville doesn't need to be told twice. Holding the envelope in front of him like a bomb, he sprints out of the hall, while the Slytherin table explodes with laughter at the sight of him. Annoyed, I send them very rude hand gestures. The Howler goes off in the Entrance Hall, and everyone in the Great Hall can hear it. Neville's grandmother's voice, magically magnified so that it's a hundred times louder, shrieking about how he's brought shame to the entire family. Poor Neville! I feel so bad for him!

Looking away from the door to the Entrance Hall, I read the note Harry's reading over his shoulder. It's from Hagrid, inviting Ron and Harry to tea. But it's the P.S. that catches my eye, because it mentions me:  _P.S. Hazel, if you're reading this, I know how busy you've been with your work. I thought I'd leave you to it._

"Hagrid knows me so well," I announce matter-of-factly.

"Well, it doesn't take much to know that you've had so much work to do lately," Ron points out, and I just shrug in reply. Later that evening, I'm in the common room with Hermione, both of us working on translations for Ancient Runes. I really like Ancient Runes! It's very interesting. Probably one of my favourite subjects. And I'm not just saying this because I'm good at it...

The portrait hole swings open, and I look up to see who it is. Fred and George. I smile and wave at them, then check to see if anyone saw. As everyone still thinks I'm a slut who's playing both of them, so much as a friendly hand gesture might set people off. When I look back, I see Fred's brows furrowed, as though something's bothering him. He walks towards me.

"You won't have to do that any more," he whispers into my ear, making me blush and my heart speed up. "I'm about to fix  _everything_."

"What d'you mea-?" I begin, but Fred leaps up onto the table next to ours, before I can finish my question.

He whistles loudly. The common room goes silent, and everyone stares at him with curious and confused expressions. Mine probably isn't much different. What is he up to?

"Listen up, you lot. I've got something to say," he announces matter-of-factly, "about someone I'm sure you all know. Hazel Knight."

My eyes widen in shock. I can feel myself blushing. What the hell if Fred doing?

"In case you don't know her, she's the one over there with the black hair. You know, the one that's blushing," Fred clarifies, laughing and pointing at me, making me blush even more.

"You mean the whore that cheated on you with your twin brother?" some random person yells, and I bury my head in my arms from embarrassment. Why exactly did Fred think this was a good idea?

"Yeah, the thing is, she actually didn't," Fred says, and I look back up in shock. "We never even dated to begin with. It was a prank."

"You mean it was all a joke?" someone shouts.

"I'm pretty sure that's what he  _just_  said," I mutter, but in the silence, it's a lot louder than expected. Most people laugh.

"Yes, it was a joke," Fred repeats, grinning at me for a second. "But it got out of hand. I didn't mean for all of you to hate Hazel so much. Look, she never even saw that last bit with her cheating coming. She was just as surprised as all of you. Probably more surprised. She made up all of the things she said on the spot, which is actually really impressive when you think about it. But anyway, you shouldn't be hating her. She's actually a really good friend. She didn't even want to do the prank in the first place, but she did it for me, since she knew I wanted to. So, basically, what I'm trying to say here is, one: you shouldn't hate Hazel. She's actually a really good friend. Two: Hazey, I'm really sorry. I should've asked your permission for the last bit and respected your answer. Have I fixed everything yet? Does everything feel all right, now?"

I don't answer for a second, because I'm completely and utterly speechless. I stare at him in disbelief, shaking my head slightly and smiling at him. But I'm unable to speak. He's so unbelievable. So  _adorable_. That hopeful look on his face. That hopeful tone in his voice.

"Say something," Hermione hisses to me, as I haven't said anything yet.

"Well, duh," I say, with a goofy grin.

Relief spreads across Fred's face. Then a smile to match my own.

"Good, because I don't know that I would've done if that didn't work," Fred says matter-of-factly, and I laugh.

"You complete dick!" some girl yells. "You've been messing with all of us this whole time? And made Hazel go through all that! What the actual fuck is wrong with you?!"

"Woah, woah, woah," I say, getting to my feet, and leaping next to Fred on the table. "Don't go insulting Fred, now!"

"It's okay, Hazey," Fred mutters. "I deserve it."

"No, you don't! So stop being noble," I snap. Then turn to the girl who said that. "Now, listen carefully. Right, he messed up. Big deal! We all do. And it's not all his fault. I overreacted! I screamed at him, and nearly punched him in the face! Sorry about that, by the way," I add to him. _  
_

"No worries," Fred says immediately.

"Anyway, you shouldn't go hating on Fred, either," I continue, "he was only having a laugh. And it wasn't complete torture. It was actually quite enjoyable at times. And not for the reason I know you're thinking, Fred," I add, lying. It's exactly for the reason he's thinking. It was nice getting a taste of what it's like to date him.

"It's scary how well you know me," he mutters. I just shrug and smile cheekily at him.

"It was enjoyable because he had a point," I go on, "if you guys saw some of your reactions, you'd think it was pretty funny, too."

"You thought it was funny! I knew it!" Fred exclaims.

"Really? Now?" I ask, half exasperated, half amused.

"Right, sorry," he murmurs, again, and I smile at how cute he is.

"Point is, don't go hating on Fred, because you haven't got a reason to," I conclude. "Oh, and  _never_ say to Fred, 'What the actual fuck is wrong with you?!', because there's only  _one_ person in the  _entire world_ who can say that. And that's me. Otherwise, you'll get injured. Got it?"

"Whatever," the girl says, and goes back to her friends.

Slowly, people go back to what they were doing before, and the common room's usual buzz of noise returns. Fred hops off the table, and offers his hand to help me down. I take it for two reasons. One: it's very likely that I'll fall. Two: I kind of just want to hold his hand... I still manage to sort of stumble when I land, and use Fred's shoulders for support.

"Thank you," I tell him. "For everything."

"No problem," Fred says. "It was the least I could do."

"No, it really wasn't," I assure him, and hug him.

I let go quickly, before I'm tempted to stay there in his arms forever. Lavender and Parvati walk up to us, giggling. Fred and I exchange glances, half amused, half exasperated.

"That was so cute! All of it!" Lavender squeals.

"You guys would totally make a cute couple!" Parvati gushes. "As in, a real one."

"I think we're better off as friends," Fred says, and I try to hide the fact that my heart just shattered with disappointment and heart break. At least it's not a surprise to me.

"Yeah, I agree," I lie.

"Well, we're only  _saying,_ " Lavender insists, and they walk away, still giggling.

"Well, I should get back to my-" I begin after a moment of silence.

"Oh, take a break from your homework, already. You've been working too much," Fred says.

"But I'm so behind! I need to at least finish my Ancient Runes now!" I insist.

"How much have you got left?" he asks.

"Just one more translation," I reply.

"Oh, go on, then," he says, sighing.

I go back to my table, and sit back down. I catch Hermione's eye for a second, and see a giant smirk on her face.

"Oh, shut up," I say, smiling.

"I haven't said anything," she says back, still smirking.

Smiling, I pick up my quill, and scribble down the last translation. The minute I put down my quill, Fred comes over, picks me up in a fireman's carry, and starts walking for the portrait hole.

"Fred?! What the hell?!" I exclaim, laughing.

"Well, you're done, aren't you?" Fred replies.

Hermione winks at me. Laughing, I give her a thumbs up and a wave. Fred doesn't put me down until we're about three corridors away from the common room.

"And what exactly was the point of that?" I ask, laughing, and pushing the hair out of my face.

"I dunno, really," he admits. "Just an impulse."

"Well, now what should we do?" I ask.

"Prank someone?" Fred suggests.

"All right, who and how?" I ask eagerly. "And should we get George in this?"

"Nah, he's too busy flirting with Angelina. As to who, I'd say-"

"George likes Angelina?!" I exclaim.

"Keep your voice down," Fred says. "And, yes. Isn't it obvious?"

"Maybe to you, since he's your twin, but not to me!" I reply. "And if it's so obvious, why do you want me to keep my voice down?"

"Touché, Knight. All right, not everyone knows," Fred admits. "So, don't go telling anyone, all right?"

"I won't," I promise. "Anyway, in terms of who we should prank, I say we should do Filch."

"I was thinking exactly the same thing," Fred agrees, grinning.

"But how, then?" I ask.

There's a moment of silence as we think of ideas. I want it to have to do with Filch's office. Mess that up somehow. But how is the question.

"How about we just do whatever we can think of to mess up his office?" Fred suggests.

"Sounds good to me," I say, laughing.

We hurry down to his office. Through corridors, down staircases, and through passages, talking and laughing all the while. When we finally arrive at Filch's office, we pause slightly, not sure if he's in there or not.

"This would be a lot easier if we had the map," Fred states.

"No duh," I tease. "Well, only one way to find out if he's in there."

I open the door carefully, and walk down the steps as silently as I can. Once at the bottom, I look around the cramped office. It's empty. I turn back to Fred, who's halfway down the stairs, give him a thumbs up, and gesture for him to come downstairs. He hurries the rest of the way down.

Basically, we do the most random stuff to his office. We put files in random cabinets, put records in different files, rip up some records and throw them in the air like they're confetti - mostly our own and George's. We do a spell to make the colour of his walls pink, blue, purple, and red; use the same spell to turn the desk gold; rig the drawer of the desk to bark excessively whenever opened; and finally, rig the chair to collapse when he sits on it.

Satisfied with our work, we head back up the steps, laughing about what Filch's reaction's going to be like. Obviously, he'll go insane. Back in the corridor, we meet a very unexpected surprise.

"What are you two doing?" McGonagall asks.

"Nothing," Fred and I answer immediately, with looks of innocence that wouldn't even deceive the most gullible of people, let alone McGonagall.

"Then you wouldn't mind if I had a look inside Mr. Filch's office?" she asks, taking a step forward.

"Well, I dunno," I say, grinning. "You might have to ask Filch's permission. Some people don't like people barging into their office without permission, you know."

"So, why were you in there, then?" McGonagall asks, eyebrows raised.

"Because," Fred says, "we didn't barge in. We opened the door and walked in."

"Well, why don't I do the same," McGonagall suggests, opens the door, and strides downstairs.

Fred and I glance at each other, and burst out laughing. We're  _so_ screwed. Oh well, it's not like it's the first detention we've gotten. And it definitely won't be the last one...

There're sounds of barking from Filch's office, and our laughter increases. McGonagall comes back up about a few minutes later. Obviously, she repaired the room. McGonagall looks at us for a second, then sighs, with an almost non-existent smile. But I notice it.

"Double detention for both of you," she says, for what seems like the billionth time. "Starting tomorrow evening right after dinner. We're going to have to make up for those records you destroyed."

Without further ado, she walks back down the corridor. There's a moment of silence, then Fred and I look at each other. We burst into more laughter.

"Oh well!" we say at the same time, shrugging, and starting to walk back upstairs.

"Oh, no!" I suddenly exclaim.

"What?" Fred asks, confused.

"With that double detention, I'll have less time to finish all my homework! Especially considering we've got Quidditch practice, and I'm helping Hagrid with his trial!" I exclaim. "Ugh, why do I have to be so busy?"

"Just drop a couple of subjects, Hazey," Fred says. "You're staying up until 3:00am to finish homework. This isn't good. How're you even getting to all of your classes?"

"I have my ways, Weasley," I reply mysteriously. "Besides, I'm going to drop Arithmancy at the end of this year. I just want to finish all of my subjects that I started. At least, just for this year."

"All I'm saying is that it's not good to stay up until 3:00am and barely get any sleep just because a couple of stupid subjects..." Fred mutters.

"I know, and I'm going to fix that for next year. Right after exam results come out," I promise. "Now can we talk about something more pleasant?"

And with that, we change the subject, and return quickly to laughing, joking around, and our usual banter. Much better. It really is great that everything is back to normal between Fred and I. I missed it.


	26. A Tale From Lupin

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Twenty-Six: A Tale From Lupin**

 

When we return to the common room, there's bunch of people crowding across the bulletin board. Fred, obviously being the taller between the two of us, stands on tiptoe to see what all the fuss is about.

"Hogsmeade next weekend!" Fred says excitedly.

"Yes!" I exclaim. "I've been waiting for ages to restock on Dungbombs!"

"I've been waiting for Fireworks. Speaking of which, look at the love birds," Fred says, nudging me and pointing to a corner of the common room.

I look at where he's pointing and see George and Angelina. Their flirting is  _so_ obvious, but then again, they seem to be enjoying it, so I guess that isn't necessarily a bad thing.

"Aww, how cute," I coo teasingly.

"You do realize we're going to take the mickey out of him when Angelina leaves, right?" Fred says, eyebrows raised.

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Weasley," I reply, laughing.

Suddenly, I feel someone brush past my back. I turn and see Hermione, Crookshanks in her arms, hurrying for the girls' dormitories. I catch a glimpse of her face and see that it's shining with tears. I sigh.

"What has Ron done now," I groan.

"She can't be crying because of Ron again, can she?" Fred asks. "I mean, the fight can't be that bad, can it?"

"Crookshanks ate Scabbers, what did you expect?" I ask with a sad smile. "Besides, it's not just the fight that's making her cry, even though it's the reason."

"What?" Fred says, confused.

"I mean she's  _stressed_ ," I clarify. "She's got so much to do, and she's so stressed, that she's just so on the edge lately. So a fight this big can't help too much, now can it?"

"Oh, yeah, you're right," Fred says. "Hey, how'd you take our fight then? Since you're obviously quite stressed yourself."

"I wasn't as stressed as I am now, since I had no work to do during the beginning," I admit, "but as it piled up, I had to hold my tongue a lot whenever I saw you. Even though I wasn't even mad. I tried to make myself mad at you at one point, though-"

"Why-?" Fred begins.

"Don't ask," I interrupt, "Anyway, I handled it better than Hermione, I think I can say, but it was still hard. So I just tried to pretend you didn't even exist. How about you?"

"Well, when you wouldn't even look at me, I just decided to avoid you." Fred admits. And I hate myself again. "But that became hard since I basically saw you everywhere after I decided that."

"I'm really-" I begin, but he cuts me off.

"Don't worry about it," Fred insists.

There's a moment of silence between us. Finally, I speak up.

"I should probably go try and cheer up Hermione," I announce. "Guess that homework's going to have to wait."

"I knew it would have to for one reason or another," Fred says. "See you later, Knight,"

"Bye, Weasley," I say, waving, and walk towards the girls' dormitories.

I open the door, and walk up the spiral staircase, and enter the door labelled 'Third Years'. Hermione's lying on her bed, all alone, with Crookshanks prowling around the room, looking for a chance to escape. I close the door quickly before he can. He hisses at me for a second, but forgets his hatred when I scratch him behind the ears.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" I ask gently, sitting at the foot of her bed.

"Ron,  _again_ ," she sobs. "I just don't know why he's still so mad! It's like I don't even exist any more!"

I open my arms to offer a hug, and she flings her arms around me. I rub her back comfortingly.

"It's okay," I assure her softly. "It'll be all right. He'll get over it eventually."

"But when, though?" she asks, pulling away.

"I dunno," I admit, shrugging. "But it'll happen. Remember that. Because that's the silver lining in your cloud."

"That it'll happen?!" Hermione says hopelessly. "But that could be years!"

"Maybe," I agree. "But it'll happen. Besides, I highly doubt it'll be years. Remember my fight with Fred? That ended soon enough, didn't it? you just gotta wait it out. Good things come to those who wait."

Damn. These are the deepest things I've said in a while. I could totally be a poet! Well, I'll call that 'Plan B', shall I?

"Yeah, yeah," Hermione says slowly. "You're right."

"I know I am," I laugh in mock-arrogance. "Now, I'll stay and finish my homework here so you're not alone."

"Oh, no, you don't have to," Hermione says immediately.

"I know I don't," I reply simply, pull out my potions essay, and begin working on it.

By the time Lavender and Parvati come up at 12:30, I've nearly finished all my homework, and Hermione's fallen asleep, still looking fairly troubled. When I saw this at first, I put down my History of Magic essay and tried to get her to talk, but she kept insisting nothing, until finally, literally half an hour later, I gave up on trying to get an answer out of her. I put my work away, pleased with myself. Maybe I'll actually get some sleep tonight.

 

The next day, after Defence Against the Dark Arts, Lupin calls me back to see him. Hermione and I glance at each other nervously.

"What'd you do?" Hermione asks quietly.

"Nothing," I answer. "Or, at least, nothing Lupin should have to talk to me about."

I double back, and make my way through the crowd, walking the opposite direction as all of them, until I'm in front of Lupin's desk.

"Yes, Professor?" I ask, biting my lip nervously.

"There's nothing to be nervous about," Professor Lupin says, smiling. "You look so much like your mother when she was nervous. In fact, you just look so much like your mother in general."

"You knew my mother?" I ask, interested.

"And your father," Lupin replies, smiling. "I went to school with them, and we were very good friends."

"Really?" I ask, smiling in disbelief. I've never met anybody who was friends with my parents before!

"Really," Lupin confirms, smiling at me. "In fact, there's something I wanted to tell you about that. Come inside my office."

"All right," I say, and, slightly excited, follow him inside his office, eager to hear more about my parents.

He takes a seat at his desk, and when he gestures for me to have a seat, I sit down on the chair opposite him. Lupin hesitates slightly, as though trying to decide what to say, then finally opens his mouth to speak.

"I was very good friends with your parents during school," Lupin repeats. "And that relationship didn't end after school ended either, like they tend to. In fact, when you were born, they - they made me your Godfather."

I sit in complete and utter shock. Lupin... Professor Lupin - my Godfather? I can't believe it. I'm speechless. Lupin seems to take my silence for disappointment.

"Well, I can understand if you're a little disappointed," he begins sheepishly, looking down.

"Disappointed?! Me?" I exclaim. "No! Of course not! I'm just surprised. I didn't even know I had a Godfather until now!"

"Well, I suppose you've got a point there," Lupin says, laughing. "So, I decided it was high time I told you. And, that if you needed me with anything, I'm right here. Anything at all."

"Thank you," I say. And I mean it. For the first time in my life, there's an actual, real father figure. And I sure am fortunate that it's someone as cool as Professor Lupin. "In fact, I've got one question right now."

"Ask away," Lupin says, smiling.

"Can I call you Remus?" I ask, laughing.

"Outside of call, I don't see why not," he replies, chuckling.

"Wicked," I murmur, grinning. "And, one more thing."

"Go on," Remus says.

"Could you tell me stories about my parents?" I ask sheepishly. "It's just, all I hear from people is that 'They were great people.' Well, I already knew that. I knew that from the moment Professor McGonagall told me how they died. I already knew they were great, and brave, and selfless. I don't need to hear that kind of stuff from people. I don't need people telling me things I already know. I want to know what they were like when they were in school. When they were my age, for example."

"All right, I've got one about your father that I can tell you right now, when he was your age," Remus replies, smiling.

"Go on, then!" I say excitedly.

"Well, you see, there was this girl, who really fancied him. But, he didn't fancy her back," Remus begins.

"Poor girl. I feel her pain," I blurt out, before I can stop myself. I cover my mouth in horror.

"Oh, and who exactly caused this pain?" Remus asks, eyebrows raised.

"Pshh, it's not important," I insist, blushing.

"But-"

"Back to the story, it's getting interesting!" I declare loudly, blushing harder than ever.

"And there's a huge resemblance with your mother," Remus says, chuckling. "She always acted like that when she was embarrassed."

"Who said I was embarrassed?" I ask, looking down at my lap.

"You might as well have," Remus replies, laughing. "Anyway, this girl asked him out."

"That's bold of her," I comment. "She was in Gryffindor, wasn't she?"

"No, Ravenclaw, actually," Remus corrects. "And one of the shyest people in our year. Which is why it was so surprising. Caught off guard, your father said yes."

"Bloody hell!" I blurt out, then cover my mouth again.

"Oh, don't worry, we're not in class," Remus says, laughing. "Something you've inherited from your father, I see. He cursed quite a bit.. anyway, he said yes, so the girl - her name was Miranda - well, let's just say, she got a little bit  _too_ excited."

"What did she do?" I ask, eager to find the answer.

"Well, in front of us she acted really calm about everything," Remus answers, smiling. "But when she turned the corner, she started cheering so loudly I swear it could've been heard from the top of the Astronomy Tower."

I burst out laughing. That poor girl. That's  _so_ embarrassing. I finally calm down after a bit.

"And what did my father say?" I ask, still laughing a little.

"Well, he didn't say much. He just cursed, but you could tell by his expression he was a little horror-struck at what he'd done," Remus answers, smiling reminiscently.

"Did he hate her or what?" I ask, now just feeling bad for this Miranda girl.

"Well, no, but he didn't want to lie to her, and make her think he fancied her back, when he really didn't," Remus replies.

"Well, that's sweet. In a way," I say, smiling. "So did he go on the date with her?"

"Yes, but he acted  _so_ friendly," Remus replies. "You'd think they were just best friends instead of people on a date. And they went to this shop called Madam Puddifoot's. It's basically impossible to go there and not be considered a couple."

"So what did Miranda do?" I ask, smiling at how polite my dad was about the whole situation.

"She lost complete interest in him," Remus replies bluntly. "He was acting like she was his good friend, and not like his girlfriend. So she lost interest. She wanted a boy that would treat her like a princess right from the first date, and your father wasn't the guy to do that for her."

"But did he do it for my mother?" I ask, smiling sheepishly.

"Of course," Remus replies, smiling. "Now, we should probably get to lunch."

"All right," I say, getting up and gathering my stuff. "Hey, Uncle Remus?"

"Uncle Remus?" Remus asks, though he looks rather pleased about this.

"I give nicknames for everyone, and over the course of twenty minutes, you've been more of an uncle to me than my actual uncle has ever been over the course of twelve years," I reply, shrugging.

"I'm so sorry to hear that, is there anything I can do to help?" Remus asks in concern.

"No," I reply, shaking my head and smiling sadly. "Just let me call you 'Uncle Remus.', for God's sake."

"All right, go on, then," Remus says, chuckling.

"Can we do this again sometime? I'd love to hear more stories," I ask earnestly. "Not just about my parents when they were in school, but you too! Please?"

"Of course. Any time," Remus replies, smiling.

"Thanks," I say. "I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome," Remus asks. "My pleasure, in fact."

And with that, we walk to the Great Hall for lunch.


	27. Worst Hogsmeade Trip Ever

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Worst Hogsmeade Trip Ever**

 

As Harry now has the passage from the one-eyed witch statue to get to Hogsmeade, and he can just sneak out, I don't need to stay behind with him. So, on Saturday morning, Harry waves Ron and I goodbye and makes sure a very suspicious Hermione sees him go up the stairs. In reality, however, he's going to be using that passage to meet us back in Honeydukes.

Filch looks at me suspiciously for a moment when Ron and I draw level with him. I suppose I can't be all that surprised about this, if I'm honest. As far as he knows, I've never been to Hogsmeade, and somebody who doesn't go, in his eyes, must be someone without permission. He looks down at his list. Apparently he find my name, because he lets us go. Ron and I walk down the path, talking and laughing. Up ahead, at the gates, I see Dementors. I bite my lip. I nudge Ron urgently, and he looks around me, confused how scared I am.

"What?" he asks, confused.

"The Dementors," I whisper, clearly terrified.

"Hazel, don't worry," Ron assures me. "There's this silver thing McGonagall uses. Like what Harry used at the match. I dunno what it is, but it works. You don't feel a thing when you walk past them."

"You're sure?" I ask nervously.

"Positive," Ron replies. "Now  _relax_ , for Merlin's sake."

"All right, okay," I say, taking deep breaths.

All the same, I'm scared out of my mind. You have absolutely no idea how tempted I am to turn around, run for dear life, and just go to Hogsmeade through the one-eyed witch statue with Harry. It may take longer, but it's better than walking past a couple of Dementors, in my opinion.

When we walk past them, while Ron acts quite calm and relaxed, I take a deep breath, and hold my breath, as though this could make the experience any easier But, I find out that Ron's quite right. A silver cat is circling around the gates, and as we pass, instead of feeling that cold feeling of despair, with mist swirling around me, I feel quite normal.

"See?" Ron says, after we pass the gates. "There was nothing to worry about."

"I know, I know," I sigh. "You were right. But can you really blame me for being scared?"

"No, I suppose not," Ron admits. "But now you know for when we come back."

"Yeah, I guess so..." I agree slowly.

As we strike up a very heated discussion on Quidditch, we enter Hogsmeade. I smile around. Despite the wind, it's a very nice day to just hand around in Hogsmeade. Our first stop being Honeydukes, since that's where we'll meet Harry, we go inside. I smile at the shop. I love this shop. All the sweets... I buy a bunch of sweets. The lady at the front seems to recognize me from last time, because she smiles warmly at me, as she takes the gold I offer her.

"Ron, I think the lady recognized me!" I whisper to him excitedly as we walk away, and wait for Harry a bit more in the corner of the shop.

"Well, not many people buy armfuls of candy when they come here," Ron says, shrugging.

"I did not buy  _armfuls_ ," I protest, pretending to be insulted. "Only one armful! Singular, not plural, my friend."

"You're so strange sometimes," Ron declares, laughing and shaking his head at me.

"You say that like it's a bad thing!" I announce, pretending to look insulted. "Are you trying to tell me something, here, Ickle Ronniekins?"

"Yes... I'm sorry, Hazel, but I've stolen some of your sweets," Ron confesses dramatically.

"What, when?" I ask, confused.

"Now!" Ron replies, and takes a handful of Chocolate Frogs.

"You do know you could've just asked, right?" I ask, laughing.

"Aw, but where's the fun in that?" Ron replies, popping one in his mouth.

"Fair enough," I agree, laughing.

After a few moments of eating sweets, I finally realize something. Harry should've been here by now. What if he's been caught? Worry swells inside me. Well, no matter what happened, we can't stay here all day. It'll look suspicious, especially considering I already bought something, and Ron's eating off it as well.

"Ron, we need to leave," I whisper to him.

"Buh ee eed to wai fo 'Arry," Ron protests through a mouthful of Chocolate Frog.

"I know we need to wait for Harry, but if we stay inside here for much longer, it'll look suspicious," I explain. "Especially since I've already bought something, and you're eating it with me."

"All right, fine," Ron agrees, having swallowed.

"And, Ronald, don't chew with your mouth full," I mock-scold. "It's not polite."

"Sorry,  _Mum_ ," Ron teases as we walk out.

"You should be," I say, laughing.

"What's taking Harry so long?" Ron asks, looking around, even though we both know Harry's going to be invisible.

Suddenly, someone prods me very hard on the back.

"Ouch!" I exclaim, and I turn around and look to see who did that.

Apparently, Ron had been prodded as well, because he looks around too. There's nobody near us. And if this person poked both of us, it must be Harry!

"It's me," Harry's voice mutters. "Sorry about that."

"What took you so long?" I ask.

"Snape kept me," Harry answers.

"Of course," I say darkly, and we set off down the High Street.

It's very weird talking to someone who's invisible. It often feels like they're not actually there. Ron and I have to keep asking if Harry's still around. We visit most of the shops, Ron and I pretending to be talking to just ourselves and buying for ourselves, instead of Harry as well. I stock up on Dungbombs at Zonkos, while Harry and Ron basically get everything. I've already got tons of everything else I'd want, so I'm all good.

Since the wind has stopped so that it's only slightly breeze, none of us feel like staying indoors, so we walk past the Three Broomsticks, and climbed a slope to visit the Shrieking Shack, the most haunted building in Britain. It stands a little above the rest of the village, and even in daylight it looks creepy, with it's boarded up windows, and dank overgrown garden.

"Even the Hogwarts ghosts avoid it," Ron says, as we lean against the fence, looking up at the house. "I asked Nearly Headless Nick, he says he's heard a very rough crowd lives in there. No one can get in. Fred and George tried, obviously, but all the entrances are sealed shut."

Out of nowhere, I hear voices nearby. Someone was climbing toward the house from the other side of the hill. Moments later, Malfoy appears, along with Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy's speaking.

"... should have an owl from Father any time now. He had to go to the hearing and tell them about my arm-"

At this moment, I remember that today's the day of Hagrid's hearing. I bite my lip, and pray for Hagrid silently for a moment, before listening to what Malfoy's saying again.

"I really wish I could hear that great hairy moron trying to defend himself... 'There's no 'arm in 'im, 'onest-'... That Hippogriff's as good as dead-"

My hand twitches for my wand, but Ron nudges me and shakes his head. Well, the table's have certainly turned. It's usually  _me_ trying to hold  _Ron_ back. Malfoy finally sees Ron and I, and his pale face splits into a malicious grin.

"What're you doing here, Weasley, Knight?" Malfoy says, then looks up at the crumbling house behind us. "Suppose you'd love to live here, wouldn't you, Weasley? Dreaming about having your own room? I heard your family all sleep in one room - is that true?"

Now it's my turn to hold Ron back, along with help from Harry, but I'm shaking slightly from anger myself.

"Leave him to me," Harry hisses to us.

"We were just discussing your friends, Hagrid," Malfoy continues. "Just trying to imagine what he'll say to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. D'you think he'll cry when they cut off the Hippogriff's-"

SPLAT! Out of nowhere, mud flies through the air, and Malfoy's silver blonde hair is suddenly covered in the mud. I smirk, and exchange gleeful glances with Ron. Harry... you gotta love him...

"What the-?"

His confusion just makes it all the more funny. I start laughing hysterically, and both Ron and I have to use the fence to keep ourselves standing. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle spin around stupidly, trying to find who threw the mud, Malfoy trying to wipe his hair clean.

"Who was that? Who did that?"

"Very haunted up here, isn't it?" Ron comments lightly, as one would comment on the weather.

" _Very_ ," I agree, holding back my smirk.

Crabbe and Goyle're suddenly looking very scared. Their muscles are no use against ghosts. Malfoy looks around wildly at the deserted landscape.

Suddenly, all three of them are covered in some foul-smelling, green sludge. I burst out laughing once more, as Goyle hops furiously on the spot, trying to wipe some out of his eyes all the while.

"It came from over there!" Malfoy exclaims, pointing at some random spot six feet away from the puddle is.

Crabbe blunders forward, arms outstretched like a zombie. I laugh loudly at the ridiculous sight. A stick floating in mid-air is lobbed at Crabbe's back. I double up in laughter as Crabbe does a kind of pirouette in mid-air to see who had hit him.

As Ron and I are the only people that he can see, he starts running toward us, even though it makes no sense for us to be the ones who're doing this. I take out my wand, but Crabbe suddenly stumbles and falls. Unfortunately, however, Crabbe's flat foot had apparently caught the hem of Harry's cloak, and the cloak slides off his face.

For a split second, Malfoy, Ron and I stare at Harry's apparently floating head. Malfoy in shock, Ron and I in horror. Then, Malfoy yells, pointing at Harry's head, then runs away quickly, Crabbe and Goyle right behind him. Harry tugs the cloak back up, but the damage's been done.

"Harry!" Ron exclaims as we stumble forward and stare desperately at the spot where Harry had disappeared. "You better run for it! If Malfoy tells anyone - you better get back to the castle, quick!"

"See you later," Harry's voice says, and we hear footsteps pounding down the hill quickly.

Ron and I stare at the hill for a while worriedly, until I realize something terrifying. I nudge Ron desperately once more, and he looks at me, confused.

"Ron - the stuff Harry bought at Zonkos," I say, biting my lip.

"What about it?" Ron asks, confused.

"If Harry gets caught - and chances are he will, he'll be asked to turn over his pockets," I say. "Then they'll know for sure that he went to Hogsmeade!"

"Oh, no," Ron says.

We exchange horrified glances, then start running down the hill as fast as we can. With my clumsiness, I trip over my own feet, and fall down a large part of the hill, until I'm finally able to do an odd sort of somersault back to my feet.

Under most circumstances, I would've stopped to admire how cool that was. But now, there's no time to stop. We need to get back to the castle and make sure Harry doesn't have all those Zonkos stuff in his pockets.

"We'll take the passage through Honeydukes," I say as we return to the High Street. "That way we don't have to deal with those bloody Dementors without that silver thing."

"All right!" Ron agrees, and we burst into Honeydukes.

We hurry along the crowd of students, duck down as we reach the counter, hurry down the stairs silently. I locate the trapdoor right away, and Ron and I go down the stairs as quickly as possible after ducking down and replacing it. Ron and I sprint the length of the passage, we falling quite a bit, but getting to my feet immediately. Ron's troubles aren't as big as mine, but are still existent.

We climb up the chute as quick as we can, but it still takes time. I keep falling back down, so Ron has to help me up impatiently. Once back in the corridors, we look around desperately of what sign to do now. Ugh, if only we had the map!

"Let's go back down to the Entrance hall, we'll see what happens from there," Ron suggests, so we run down the steps and through corridors to the Entrance Hall.

"Get ready to say your goodbyes to Potter, you two," Malfoy drawls, and we turn around to face him. "Professor Snape might just see to it that he's expelled since he's not allowed in Hogsmeade."

Ron and I exchange horrified glances, then run down to Professor Snape's office in the dungeons. By the time we burst through the doors, we're completely out of breath, but we run forward to the desk all the same. I just barely register that Remus is also in the office. I wonder why...

"I - gave - Harry - that - stuff," Ron wheezes, "Bought - it - in - Zonkos - ages - ago."

"Well!" Remus says cheerfully, clapping his hands together and looking around cheerfully. "That seems to clear that up! Severus, I'll take this back, shall I?" He folds us none other than the Marauder's Map and tucks it inside his robes. I stare in shock. "Hazel, Harry, Ron, come with me. I need to have a word about my vampire essay. Excuse us, Severus."

I glance at Snape for half a second as we exit, and see him looking furious, and rather scary. I look away quickly, and follow Remus, along with Harry and Ron. None of us speak until we reach the Entrance Hall.

"Professor, I-" Harry begins, but Remus cuts him off.

"I don't want to hear explanations," Remus interrupts shortly. I bite my lip nervously at how angry he seems to be. He glances around the empty Entrance Hall and lowers his voice. "I happen to know this map was confiscated by Mr. Filch many years ago. Yes, I know it's a map," Remus adds, seeing our shocked faces. "I don't want to know how it fell into your possession. However, I'm astounded that you didn't hand it in. Particularly what happened last time a student left information lying around. I can't let you have it back, Harry."

"Why did Snape think I got it from the manufacturers?" Harry asks, leaving me slightly confused.

"Because..." Remus hesitates, "because these people would have wanted to lure you out of the school. They would've found it extremely entertaining."

"Do you  _know_ them?" I ask, impressed.

"We've met," Remus replies shortly. "Don't expect me to cover up for you again, Harry. I cannot make you take Sirius Black seriously, but I would've thought what you hear when the Dementors come near you would have more of an effect on you. Your parents gave their lives to protect you, Harry. A poor way to repay them - gambling their sacrifices for a bag of magic tricks."

He walks away, leaving me feeling incredibly guilty. He's right. It was stupid. Hermione was right, too. I should've convinced him not to go. Slowly and miserably, Harry, Ron and I mount the marble staircase.

"It's my fault," Ron says abruptly. "I persuaded you to go. Lupin's right, it was stupid, we shouldn't have done it-"

He breaks off. We reach the corridor where the security trolls pace, and Hermione's hurrying toward us. One look at her face convinces me that she knows what happened. What if she told Professor McGonagall?

"Come to have a good gloat?" Ron asks savagely, as she stops in front of us. "Or have you just been to tell on us?"

"No," Hermione answers. She's holding a letter in her hands and her lower lip's trembling. "I just thought you ought to know, Hagrid lost his case. Buckbeak's going to be executed."

 _No_. It can't be.


	28. Stress Gets to People

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Stress Gets to People**

 

"He - he sent me this," Hermione says, holding out a letter.

I take it, and open it up. The parchment's rather damp, and huge tear-drops smudged the ink so badly that it's very difficult to read. I squint at it, my head tilted to the side, and read aloud.

 

_Dear Hermione and Hazel,_

_We lost. I'm allowed to bring him back to Hogwarts. Execution date to be fixed. Beaky has enjoyed London._

_I won't forget all the help you gave us,_

_Hagrid._

 

"They can't do this," Harry says immediately. "Buckbeak's not dangerous."

"Malfoy's dad frightened the Committee into doing it," Hermione says, wiping her eyes. Of course. "You know what he's like. They're a bunch of doddery old fools, and they were scared. There'll be an appeal, of course, there always is. Only I can't see any hope... nothing will have changed."

"Yeah it will," Ron says fiercely. "You won't have to do all the work this time, Hermione. I'll help."

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione exclaims.

She flings her arms around his neck, and breaks down completely. Ron, looking really rather terrified, pats the top of Hermione's head very awkwardly. In spite of myself, I glance at Harry and grin, holding back a laugh. They're so going to be a couple. Finally, Hermione pulls away.

"Ron, I'm really, rally sorry about Scabbers," Hermione sobs.

"Oh - well - he was old," Ron says, just looking relieved at the fact that she had let go of him. "And he was a bit useless. You never know, Mum and Dad might get me an owl now."

The safety measures now taken because of Sirius Black makes it impossible to see him during the evenings. The only time we get to see him now is during Care of Magical Creatures. He seems numb with shock at the verdict.

"S'all my fault. Got all tongue-tied. They was all sittin' there in black robes, an' I kep' droppin' me notes and forgettin' all them dates yeh looked up for me, you two." Hagrid nods at Hermione and I, and continues. "An' then Lucius Malfoy stood up and did his bit, and the Committee jus' did exac'ly what he told 'em..."

"Of course," I say darkly. "Doesn't matter who's innocent or not, just who has enough power, and is vile enough to threaten people to get what they want."

"There's still the appeal!" Ron says fiercely. "Don't give up yet!"

We're walking back up the castle along with the rest of the class. Ahead, I can se Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, who keep looking back, and laughing, not trying to hide their laughter at all. I glare at them, longing to hex the living hell out of them.

"S'no good, Ron," Hagrid says sadly. "That Committee's in Lucius Malfoy's pocket. I'm jus' gonna make sure that the rest o' Beaky's time is the best he's ever had. I owe him that..."

Hagrid turns around and hurried back to his cabin, burying his head into his handkerchief as he goes. Poor Hagrid. I wish there was something else I could do, but he's right. There's nothing that'll change the Committee's mind. Lucius Malfoy has them under his complete control.

After lunch, we climb the tower into the dim, stifling room where Divination is held. Glowing on every table is a crystal ball full of pearly, white mist. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I sit down at the same rickety table.

"I thought we weren't starting crystal balls until next term," Ron murmurs, glancing around to see if Trelawney's lurking nearby.

"Don't complain, that means we've finished palmistry," Harry replies. "I was getting sick of her flinching every time she looked at my hands."

"Good day to you!" the familiar, misty voice cries. Trelawney had made yet another dramatic entrance out of the shadows. Parvati and Lavender quiver with excitement, their faces illuminated by the milky glow of the ball. I roll my eyes at them. "I have decided to introduce the crystal ball a little earlier than planned. The fates have informed me that your examination in June will contain the Orb, and I am anxious to give you sufficient practice."

Hermione snorts, and when Ron, Harry and I look at her, says, not troubling to keep her voice down. "Well, honestly... 'the fates have informed her'. Who sets the exam? She does! What an amazing prediction!"

Harry, Ron, and I choke back laughs. It's hard to tell whether Trelawney had heard, since she had hidden back in the shadows. She continues, as though she had not heard.

"Crystal gazing is a particularly refined art," she says dreamily. "I do not expect any of you to See when you first peer into the Orb's infinite depths. We shall start by practising relaxing the conscious mind and external eyes-" Ron starts sniggering uncontrollably and has to shove his fist in his mouth to stifle it, while I look at Trelawney's desk in utter confusion - "so as to clear the Inner Eye and super conscious. Perhaps if we're lucky, some of you will be able to See by the end of this class."

"I can see just fine, thanks," I mutter crossly. "Besides, can't she just  _predict_ if any of us are going to be able to 'see'?"

I put air quotes around the word 'see'. Hermione laughs. I have the feeling Trelawney is glaring at me through the shadows, like Parvati and Lavender, but I don't care. With that, we begin. I stare at the crystal ball, feeling really quite silly, trying to empty my mind, which is rather difficult, when thoughts like, "this is one of the dumbest things I've ever done" keep running across it. Ron's giggling and Hermione's tutting doesn't help much, either.

"Seen anything yet?" Harry asks, after fifteen minutes of quiet crystal gazing.

"Yeah, there's a burn on this table," Ron replies, pointing. "Someone's spilt their candle."

"Your external eyes are working real well, all right, Ronald," I say, sniggering.

"This is such a waste of time," Hermione hisses. "I could be doing something that's actually useful."

Professor Trelawney rustles past, saying, "Would anyone like me to help them interpret the shadowy portents in their Orb?"

"I don't need help," Ron whispers. "It's obvious what this means. There's going to be loads of fog tonight."

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I all burst out laughing.

"Now really!" Trelawney exclaims, and everyone's heads turn  to our direction, Parvati and Lavender looking scandalized. "You are disturbing the clairvoyant vibrations!"

She approaches our table and peers into the Orb. Here we go. Another speech about how Harry's going to die...

"There is something here!" Trelawney whispers, lowering her face towards the ball. "Something moving... but what is it?"

Oh, please. We all know  _exactly_ what's coming, and whoever doesn't must be incredibly thick, really.

"My dear," Trelawney breathes, gazing up at Harry, and I roll my eyes. "It is here, plainer than ever before... my dear, stalking toward you, ever closer... the Gr-"

"Oh, for  _goodness_ ' sake!" Hermione exclaims. "Not that ridiculous grim  _again_!"

Professor Trelawney raises her very big eyes to Hermione's face. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Parvati whisper something to Lavender, and they both glare at Hermione. Trelawney stands up, looking at Hermione with unmistakable anger.

"I am sorry to say that from the very moment that you have arrived in this class, my  _dear,_ that you do not have what the noble art of Divination requires. Indeed, I don't remember ever meeting a student whose mind was so hopelessly mundane."

There's a moment of silence. Then, Hermione reaches a breaking point.

"Fine!" she snaps, getting up and cramming  _Unfogging the Future_ in her bag. !Fine!" she repeats, swinging her bag over her shoulder and almost knocking Ron off his chair. "I give up! I'm leaving!"

And to the amazement of the entire class, Hermione strides over to the trapdoor, kicks it open, and climbs down the ladder and out of sight. It takes a few minutes for the class to settle down again. Trelawney, to my relief, has forgotten all about the Grim. She turns abruptly from our table, breathing heavily.

"Oooo!!" Lavender says suddenly, making the entire class start. "Ooo, Professor Trelawney, I've just remembered! You saw her leaving, didn't you? Didn't you, Professor? ' _Around Easter, one of our number will leave us forever!_ ' You said it  _ages_ ago, Professor!"

"Lucky guess," I grumble, making Harry and Ron snigger.

Trelawney gives her a dewy smile, and says, "Yes, my dear, I did know that Ms. Granger would be leaving us. One hopes, however, that one might've mistaken the signs... The Inner Eye can be a burden, you know..."

"But she seemed surprised," I point out.

Lavender and Parvati, however, look a lot more impressed than I feel, and move over so that Trelawney can join their table instead, something I'm not the least bit disappointed about.

The Easter holidays aren't exactly relaxing. We third years have never had so much homework. Neville seems close to a nervous collapse, and he's not the only one. I'm close to collapsing myself.

"Call this a holiday!" Seamus Finnigan roars. "The exams are ages away, what're they playing at?"

Out of the third years, I, most unfortunately, have the most to do. Now that Hermione's quite Divination, we're taking the same amount of classes, and I've got Quidditch practice every day. I'm not staying up until around 3:00am on a daily basis, if not later, and shadows have started growing around my eyes. I'm handling the stress a lot differently than Hermione. While she's close to tears, I snap at anybody who disturbs me while I'm doing my work.

"Hey, Hazey," Fred says, sitting down across from me.

" _Can't you see I'm trying to work?! Now, please, leave before I hex you into the next century!_ " I snap, then instantly regret it.

"The next century? How about just the next decade?" Fred suggests jokingly, and I look up from my work to glower at him. Then my expression softens.

"Look, I'm really sorry, Fred, but I really haven't got the time," I say gently. "Maybe another time, all right?"

"You've been saying that for weeks," Fred whines.

"Because I've been busy for weeks," I counter, mocking his tone. "I've just had so much work to do. And Quidditch all the time isn't helping much."

"You're been working too much," Fred says. "It isn't healthy. Take a break!"

"I've taken too many breaks," I refuse stubbornly. "I need to catch back up. After exams, all right? Practises will be over, there won't be any homework. I'll do all the pranking you want. I'll be glad to, in fact. Just not now, or basically not any time up until exams finish, okay?"

"Hazel, what you're doing isn't good for you," Fred insists, now sounding concerned. "You've been staying up until 3:00am, working. You've even skipped meals! You  _need_ to drop a couple classes! At least you need a break."

"I already told you, I will!" I snap, slightly irritated now, even though I know he's just concerned. "After term ends! Now, please just leave me to my work. I'm sorry I snapped at you, but I really need to finish all of this before I go to sleep."

My tone is very tired, and pleading. I don't think my voice has ever sounded like that. Ever. So tired, so pleading. I suppose Fred can't argue with that tone, because he sighs, mutters, "Fine," and leaves. I stare at him as he leaves, feeling guilty.

" _Come on, then! You didn't just make him leave to do nothing! Back to work!"_ a voice in my head that sounds a lot like Hermione says. I think I have a voice in my head for everything. Working. Love. Denial...

I shake my head to focus once more, and continue scribbling away at my History of Magic essay.


	29. Stress From Quidditch

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Stress From Quidditch**

 

The tension for a Quidditch match has never been so high. By the time holidays are over, the tension between Gryffindor and Slytherin, which already tends to be quite high, is at a breaking point. A number of small fights break out in the corridors, sometimes ending with rather disgusting results.

The only way that we can win - as Oliver so constantly reminds us - is if we get more than two hundred points. Meaning Harry can only catch the Snitch is we're fifty points up, something Oliver so constantly reminds Harry. Must get annoying.

The day before the match, I'm eating dinner with Fred and George. Honestly, they had to force me to go, since I was so deep into my homework. They're teasing me about how engrossed I was in it.

"It's like doing homework is your passion or something," George says, laughing.

They then burst into a very over-dramatic impression of me, making it seem like I'm in love with my homework. I just sit there and laugh, my stress and slight annoyance at them disappearing a bit.

"Prepared to lose, you lot?" a familiar voice drawls.

"Piss of, Malfoy," I snarl, glaring at him.

"Feisty, are we?" he sneers, seeming to enjoy my obvious hatred for him.

"Hey, Malfoy, do us a favour and get lost," George says, glaring at him.

"And why should I?" Malfoy says, smirking, and twirling a bit of my hair. "I think I like it here."

"Oh, you'd like to be in Gryffindor with us?" I ask, knowing how much he hates Gryffindor.

"More like with you," Malfoy says, smirking. "You're pretty enough. The personality still needs work, but we can get there."

Fred and George stand up immediately. I catch their eyes, and give them a look that plainly says, 'Sit down. He's not worth it' but they ignore it, so as a result, I stand up to hold them back if I have to.

"Just get lost, Malfoy," I snarl. "It's not happening. Ever."

"Oh, come on, it's gotta be better than hanging out with them," Malfoy says.

"Actually," I say, stepping in front of Fred and George so they don't attack them. "I'd rather be with them than you any day. In fact, there're millions of people I'd rather be with. Because, believe it or not, Malfoy, I don't enjoy spending my time with a pathetic piece of scum like you."

"Pathetic!" he snarls. "We'll see who's pathetic after you lot lose the match!"

"Oh please, we're  _so_  going to beat you," I say right away, despite my nerves.

"Really? Prepared to make it a little more interesting, then, since you're so cocky?" Malfoy asks, smirking.

"How so?" I ask, eyes narrowed.

"Simple. A bet." Malfoy replies coolly. "When Slytherin wins, you have to kiss me."

"What?! No way in hell am -" I begin, but Fred and George, in their anger, cut me off.

"You're on!" they say, and I turn to them in disbelief.

"WHAT?! Have you two lost your minds?" I exclaim.

"What's the matter, Knight?" Malfoy asks, twirling a bit of my hair again. "I thought Gryffindor was so going to beat Slytherin."

"We - we are," I say, more nervous than ever now. I don't want to kiss Malfoy! "But - but when  _Gryffindor_ wins, you have to, erm... You, Malfoy, have to walk around in eye-liner, nail polish, and eye shadow for a whole day."

"No way!" Malfoy says.

"What happened to ' _We'll see who's pathetic after you lot lose the match_!'?" I ask, in a horrible imitation of his voice.

"All right. All right, fine," he says, and we shake hands.

Since Professor McGonagall's watching us suspiciously, Malfoy walks away, smirking at me quite confidently. I turn around, and slap Fred and George on the arm  _very_ hard.

"What the  _hell_ was that?!" I ask. "Why did you agree to that?! I don't want my first kiss to be Malfoy! In fact, I don't want to his him at all! Of all people!"

"Calm down," Fred says. "We're going to win. It's like you said, we've got the best team."

"When did she say that?" George asks, confused, since he wasn't there when Fred comforted me about my dream.

"Oh, a while ago," I say idly. "But all the same, what if we lose?"

Fred sighs at how worried I am, and says, "How is it that you always manage to make me feel guilty so easily? Nobody usually ever makes me feel guilty!"

"I guess it's just a gift," I say, shrugging and smiling half-heartedly.

"All right, how about this, if it turns out that we do lose, I'll kiss you before you kiss Malfoy," Fred says. "That way your  _first_ kiss isn't with Malfoy. Just one of them is."

"And what makes you think that's any better?" I ask.

"Hurtful," Fred says, eyebrows raised, apparently taking it in a way that I wouldn't want to kiss him, and he's a bad kisser. When I really mean that I'd still have to kiss Malfoy.

"Oh, no! I don't mean it like that! I'm sure kissing you isn't a bad experience!" I exclaim, then instantly blushing. I'm so stupid sometimes...

"I bet you'd really like to experience it, huh, Knight?" George says, smirking.

"No, of course not," I deny, blushing madly. "Look, this isn't the point of anything  _relevant_ at the moment, so I don't know why we're-"

"Oh, all right, quit rambling," Fred says, smirking at how embarrassed I am. "Well, all I'm saying is that you might have preferred your first kiss being me rather than Malfoy, since first kisses are supposed to be a big deal and all that. I just thought better someone you're friends with, than someone you can't stand."

I fidget uncomfortably. Of course I'd love to kiss him over Malfoy. In fact, I'd love to kiss him over, well, just about anybody! But, I mean, if we lose, and he kisses me, what if I - oh God, this is going to sound  _so_ awkward - but what if I, er, kiss him back too, um, eagerly? In fact, what if he's thrown off by the fact that I kiss back at all? What if he only means a quick little peck, and I kiss him back, as if to snog him, and he finds out that I like him, and never wants to talk to me ever again?

But then again, what if I'm a good kisser? Or at least, he thinks I'm a really good kisser, and after we kissed he magically sees that we're as perfect for each other as everyone says, - if you count Hermione and Ginny as 'everyone' - falls in love with me, and we live happily ever after? All right. Maybe I'm living it up in a fantasy land right now, but still. Can you blame me? Dealing with this can be quite the challenge sometimes. And by sometimes, I mean all the time. You gotta give yourself happy images every once in a while.

"Hazel? You there?" George too distant to register.

"Hazey!" Fred's voice says loudly, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Yeah, what?" I ask, shaking my head a bit.

"You completely zoned out for about five minutes," George says.

"Daydreaming about how amazing it would be to kiss me, are you?" Fred says, smirking.

"You wish," I lie,

"You wish I wish," Fred says, grinning. "But anyway, what d'you say?"

I pretend to think it over, even though I just thought about it for an extremely long time, making an odd sort of thinking face.

"All right, fine," I agree slowly. "Better you as my first kiss than Malfoy. Unless some random amazing handsome bloke comes along and kisses me between now and the end of the match, assuming we lose. I wouldn't mind that too much, either."

"Come on, Hazel, stop hinting so much and admit it," George says. "You're talking about me."

"You wish," I repeat. "Anyway, I have to go back to the common room. I have to go and do-"

"Homework," they chorus.

"Of course," George adds.

"Go on, continue doing what you love," Fred says dramatically, and they break out into another dramatic impression of me.

Laughing, I turn around and hurry back up to the common room. But as people return, talking about the match, it becomes impossible to focus. My nerves, and the tension in the room are too high.

Eventually, I close my textbook suddenly with a snap, and shove it, along with my Ancient Runes translations into my bag. When Harry raises his eyebrows at my sudden action, I elaborate.

"I can't concentrate, I really can't," I say simply.

"I don't blame you," Harry admits.

I'm not the only one who can't concentrate on their work. Hermione, after many determined attempts to focus, gives up as well. I look around the packed common room. Everyone's handling the tension in a different way.

Fred and George are being louder than ever. Angelina and Katie are laughing at Fred and George's jokes. Oliver is crouched over a model of a Quidditch pitch in a corner, prodding the little figures and muttering to himself. Harry and I, on the other hand, sit away from the centre of things along with Ron and Hermione, and try uselessly to not think of tomorrow.

I'm flying through the air, Quaffle ticked securely under my arm, racing for the Slytherin goal posts, when I hear a whistle blow. Someone's caught the Snitch! I turn around, hoping so badly that it's Harry who caught the Snitch.

"Draco Malfoy has caught the Snitch. Slytherin wins," Lee Jordan announces miserably.

 _No_. Numb with shock, disappointment, and sadness, I land back on the ground. Fred lands beside me, and wraps his arms around me.

"I can't believe it," he whispers into my hair. He pulls away, and looks into my eyes. "I think - I think we had a deal."

"Yeah, we did," I breathe, and leans towards me.

Smiling slightly in spite of myself, I lean in myself, closing my eyes. just as the space between our lips is basically non-existent, someone grabs my arm and jerks me away from Fred. My urge to punch them intensifies when I see that it's Malfoy.

"Hey, you're supposed to kiss  _me_ , not him!" Malfoy says, then crashes his lips against mine.

It's completely horrifying, and I try to pull away, but he puts a hand on my back, and another on my head, pulling me closer to him. The most horrifying thing about this, is that for some reason, I start kissing him back as though my life depends on it. I open my eyes in confusion, and see Fred standing behind Malfoy, looking incredibly hurt. _  
_

"How could you do this?" he yells, but it's drowned out so that I can barely hear him. But his next works hit me hard. "I fancy you! I fancy you so much it hurts sometimes! Couldn't you tell? And just when I was starting to think you liked me back-"

Shocked, I try to pull away to explain. To explain that I like him back, and that this was only for the bet, and that I truly and honestly can't explain  _why_ I'm kissing Malfoy back, but Fred fades away. And I'm completely stuck to Malfoy like we're glues together. Everything else starts fading away as well, until it's just Malfoy and I, surrounded in complete blackness, snogging as if our lives depended on it.

I start writhing so much that I fall out of bed, still entangled in my blanket. I shoot to my feet, and run for the bathroom. I start swishing water in my mouth as if this will take me back kissing Malfoy. Then I realize it was all a dream. I sigh in relief, and exit the bathroom.

My blanket is a tangled mess on the ground, and I see that I forgot to close the curtains around me. I sigh a lot louder than I intended. I look around to see if I woke anyone up. Mostly at Hermione, since she's such a light sleeper. They all seem to still be asleep. Relieved, I look up at the clock. 5:00am. I need my rest, and I can still get in a bit more sleep. I put my blankets back on the bed, crawl into bed, close the curtains, and lie down, closing my eyes.

One problem: I can't sleep. I honestly, absolutely can't sleep. I toss and turn, trying to get comfortable, but I'm not tired, and extremely uncomfortable. Eventually, I just give up. I get some clothes, and silently change. I brush my teeth and do my hair carelessly. It hardly matters when I'm going to be flying in a few hours. I glance back the clock. 5:18am.

I tiptoe out of the room, and into the common room. I flop down on the couch closest to the fire, and stare into it blankly. Nerves start setting in deeply, and my heart starts racing, and it's suddenly very hard to stay still. We need to win. Not just because of the bet, too.  _We just have to._

" _Okay, Hazel,_ " a calm voice says. Wow. I really  _do_ have a voice in my head for everything. " _Keep calm. Take deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. Take deep, slow breaths_."

I follow the orders of the calm voice, and though, at first, it's a little agitating to follow orders to stay calm when I'm so tense, it eventually gets easier, and before I know it, I'm rather calm. Or at least, calmer than I was before...


	30. Slytherin VS. Gryffindor

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Thirty: Slytherin VS. Gryffindor**

 

"Hazel! Wake up!" A voice says, shaking me, causing me to fall off the couch in shock.

"What the hell?!!" I exclaim, sitting up, and looking around in confusion. I find Fred standing over me, laughing.

"How you ended up here, I have no clue, but you fell asleep!" Fred says, laughing.

"Wow, so I really did calm down. Thanks, Calm Voice," I mutter.

"What was that?" Fred asks, as he sticks his hand out to help me up.

"Nothing," I say, blushing and taking his hand.

"Your hair's a mess," he teases, tucking a bit of my hair behind my ear.

"Well, I was just asleep," I point out, laughing, hoping he can't hear my heart beating so fast.

"Come on, then, it's breakfast," Fred says, gesturing to the portrait hole.

"All right, let me just get my broom," I say, and hurry upstairs to my dormitory, get my Nimbus 2001, and hurry back downstairs to join Fred.

"So, how're you feeling?" I ask, as we walk down to the Great Hall, along with the rest of the team, who've just left themselves.

"I think I might be sick," Fred says bluntly, then does an adorable little smile. "You?"

"Same," I say, biting my lip nervously.

When we enter the hall, we're greeted to thunderous applause. Even the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws are clapping for us. They really want us to win. Anybody but Slytherin, I suppose. The Slytherin table, however, hisses loudly at us as we pass, but it's nothing compared to the applause. I notice that Malfoy is paler than usual, but when he sees me, he smirks all the same.

Oliver spends all of breakfast urging the team to eat up, while touching nothing himself. I poke at my food, and swallow a few bites of toast, but then stop because I feel like I'm going to throw up if I eat any more. Then he hurries us off to the field so we can get an idea of conditions. As we leave the Great Hall, there's another storm of applause.

"Okay - no wind to speak of - sun's a bit bright, that could impair your vision, watch out for it - ground's fairly hard, good, that'll give us a fast kick-off."

Oliver paces the field, staring around, with the rest of us standing a bit behind him. Finally, the front doors of the castle open and the rest of the school spill out onto the lawn.

"Locker rooms," Oliver says tensely.

None of us speak as we change into our scarlet robes. I wonder if the rest of the team feels the way I do. Like, instead of a bit of normal breakfast, they had something wriggly to eat. I wonder if some of Fred's nerves have gone. I can't really tell. I think I'm worse at hiding nerves than the rest of the team, because while they're tense, they seem so calm, while I'm biting my fingernails, fidgeting, and biting and licking my lips.

In no time at all, Wood's saying, "Okay, it's time, let's go."

We walk onto the field to a complete tidal wave of noise. Three quarters of the crowd's wearing scarlet rosettes, waving scarlet flags with the Gryffindor lion on them, or brandishing the signs that have slogans like, "GO GRYFFINDOR!" or "LIONS FOR THE CUP" on it. The other quarter - AKA, the Slytherins - is wearing green, the silver Slytherin serpent on their flags, and I can make out Snape sitting in the very front row, wearing green, and a grim smile. Git.

"And here are the Gryffindors!" Lee yells, as he's commentating. "Potter, Bell, Johnson, Knight, Weasley, Weasley, and Wood. Widely acknowledged as the best team Hogwarts has seen in a few good years-"

I smile sheepishly at his praise, blushing a bit. The rest of his words, however, are drowned out by the boo's from the Slytherins. I stick my tongue out at them, the knot in my stomach tightening. Fred and George see me, and laugh a bit.

"And here comes the Slytherin team, lead by Captain Flint. He's made some changed in the line-up and seems to be going for size rather than skill-"

This is acknowledged with more boo's, but - and this might be because I'm in Gryffindor, and not Slytherin - I personally think Lee has a good point. Malfoy is easily the smallest one on the team. The rest of them are massive.

When Oliver and Flint shake hands, it looks a lot like they're trying to break the other's hand. On Madam Hooch's whistle, we all take off into the air, but the whistle was barely audible over the roar of the crowd. I feel the usual thrill I feel when I'm up in the air, replacing a bit of my nerves. Angelina takes the Quaffle right away, and I zoom beside her, ready to help her out.

However, I guess I wasn't prepared enough, because Warrington comes out of nowhere and takes the Quaffle. I chase after him, determined to fix my mistake. Luckily, George beats a Bludger at Warrington, causing him to drop the Quaffle. I swoop in and grab it, and race toward the Slytherin goalposts.

I swerve around Montague - who looks fairly aggressive, in my opinion - duck as a Bludger zooms toward me, and throw the Quaffle through the middle hoop, as the Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchley, expected me to throw it through the left hoop. It shoots straight through.  _Ten points for Gryffindor_.

I high five Katie and Angelina triumphantly as I fly past them, while all the Gryffindor supporters - three quarters of the school - scream in delight. Then out of nowhere, someone smashes into me, nearly knocking me off my broom. I let out a tiny scream, clinging onto the handle of my broom to make sure I don't fall. I look around, and see Marcus Flint smirking at me.

"Sorry!" Marcus Flint cries as the crowd boos below him. "Sorry! I didn't see her!"

A moment later, a Beater's bat comes flying at Flint, hitting him in the back of the head. As a result, Flint's nose smashes into the handle of his broom, making it bleed. I look around at where the bat came from. Fred threw it.

"That will do!" Madam Hooch shrieks, flying between the, "Penalty shot to Gryffindor for an unprovoked attack on their Chaser. Penalty shot to Slytherin for deliberate damage to  _their_ Chaser."

"Come off it, Miss!" Fred exclaims, but Madam Hooch blows her whistle and Katie goes to take the shot.

Well, it doesn't surprise me. A foul's a foul. But I have to admit, a small part of me is actually happy that he was so upset over Flint attacking me. All right,  _a very big_ part of me is pleased about the whole thing. Even though he probably mean it in a 'Hey, you just attacked my friend' way, instead of a 'Hey, you just attacked the girl I fancy' way. I fly over to him.

"You shouldn't have done that," I whisper. "I'm fine."

"You almost fell off your broom!" he exclaims.

"But I didn't," I point out, smiling cheekily.

"Don't be cheeky," he says, mocking my tone and smiling slightly.

"YES! SHE'S BEATEN THE KEEPER! TWENTY-ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!" Lee Jordan yells, making Fred and I high-five each other happily. "And, not completely sure if anybody else noticed the love affair going on with Weasley and Knight. Fred Weasley, I mean, obviously, in case you weren't aware of the obvious, slightly sickening chemistry. Maybe the dating wasn't fake after all-"

"JORDAN!" McGonagall snaps. "You're commentating on the match, not the player's love lives!"

A large part of the crowd laughs, along with Fred and I, me blushing quite a bit. Then we turn our attention as Flint, still bleeding profusely, flies forward to take the Slytherin penalty. I bite my lip nervously, praying Oliver'll save the shot. My tendency to be negative at the worst times gets the better of me, and I'm convinced he won't save the shot. But to my delight, he does.

"Good luck," I mutter to Fred. "I have the feeling this is going to be a  _very_ violent match..."

"Tell me about it," Fred says. "Same to you."

It's a very fast-changing competition for the Quaffle. First Angelina is zooming towards the Slytherin post, then Warrington's in possession, then Katie gets the Quaffle back into Gryffindor possession. However, Montague swerves in front of Katie, but instead of dropping the Waffle, he grabs her head. Katie cartwheels in the air, manages to stay on her broom, but drops the Quaffle in the process.

Madam Hooch flies over to Montague, and shouts at him for a few seconds. A minute later, Katie puts through another penalty shot for Gryffindor.

"THIRTY-ZERO! TAKE THAT, YOU DIRTY, CHEATING-"

"Jordan, if you can't commentate in an unbiased way-" McGonagall warns.

"I'm telling it like it is, Professor!" Lee insists, making me laugh.

I take the Quaffle, and speed off toward the Slytherin goalposts. Flint catches up to me, looking aggressive. Out of the corner of my eye, as Fred passes me, I can see him glaring at Flint. I let out a tiny smile, but don't lost focus. I will myself to go faster, but Flint, riding the same type of broom as we, catches right up.

"Your boyfriend can't protect you forever," he hisses maliciously.

"Poke him in the eye, Hazel!" I hear Lee say, and I laugh. "It was a joke, Professor! It was a joke!"

"Like I need him to," I retort.

"Oh, you think you don't? Because I bed to differ," he says, and snatches the Quaffle from me.

I zoom after him, but he's already ahead of me by quite a bit. I will my broom to go faster, but it's no good. He's already at the Gryffindor goalposts.

" _Come on, Oliver_ ," I think desperately, but again, no good. Flint scores.

There's an eruption of cheers from the Slytherin end, and Lee starts swearing so badly that Professor McGonagall tries to take the microphone away from him.

"Sorry, Professor, sorry! Won't happen again!" he vows.

Very soon, I find that my prediction is right. This is easily the most violent game I've ever played in. Furious that Gryffindor has taken such an early lead, the Slytherins are resorting to any means to take the Quaffle from us. While I was once again zooming for the Slytherin goalposts, Bole had hit me right in the nose with his club, then insisted that he thought I bas a Bludger. George 'accidentally' elbowed his face in retaliation.

"Are you okay?" Harry asks, concerned, as I fly past him.

"I have the feeling my nose is broken, but it could be worse," I reply, shrugging. "It's not bleeding, at least, right?"

"That complete -" Harry begins angrily, but I cut him off.

"Asshole? Cheater?" I suggest. "It's the Slytherins. What d'you expect?"

Madam Hooch gives penalties for each team, and Oliver makes another fantastic save, and I shoot the Quaffle straight through, making the score forty-ten. Soon enough, Katie scores as well. Just one more shot and Harry can catch the Snitch and end this game. The Slytherin Beaters, Bole and Derrick, use the fact that Oliver isn't protected by any Beaters to aim both Bludgers at him. They hit him in the stomach, one after the other, leaving him completely winded. Madam Hooch is beside herself with anger.

"YOU DO NOT ATTACK THE KEEPER UNLESS THE QUAFFLE IS WITHIN THE SCORING AREA!" she shrieks at them. "Gryffindor penalty!"

Angelina takes it. And she scores. Sixty-ten. CATCH THAT SNITCH, HARRY!

Moments later, Fred aims a Bludger at Warrington, knocking the Waffle out of his hands. Glad for the opportunity, I seize it and put it through the Slytherin goal. Seventy-ten.

Apparently, Harry sees the Snitch, because he puts on a great spurt of speed, stretching out his hand, when Malfoy comes along, and grabs the tail of his broom, pulling it back.

"PENALTY!" I scream, unable to help myself.

In the distraction, the Snitch disappears. Just like Malfoy wanted. That complete bastard! McGonagall doesn't even try to stop Lee when he howls furiously into the microphone, because even she's shouting at Malfoy, shaking her fist at him. Madam Hooch, furious, allows another penalty, and I take it. Unfortunately, I'm so furious that I miss by several feel. This isn't good. I need to focus.

It's not just me, either. The entire team is losing our focus due to our anger, and the Slytherin team is taking  _full_ advantage of this. Montague scores, making the score seventy-twenty. I have to remind myself that we're still up by fifty. That Harry can still catch the Snitch and we'll win the cup.

"Angelina Johnson gets the Quaffle for Gryffindor. Come on Angelina, COME ON!" Lee says desperately.

The Slytherins - apart from Malfoy - do the most unbelievable thing ever. They're all going to block her. What a horrible, foul, vile thing to do! I decide to show Angelina that I'm open, so she can pass to me last minute. But Harry has a different plan. He shoots like a bullet toward the Slytherins, and they all scatter as the Firebolt zooms toward them, making Angelina's way clear,

She puts the Quaffle through - either-twenty - but there's a major flaw in Harry's solution. During the scene, Malfoy had spotted the Snitch, and was speeding toward it. Harry chases after the Snitch, but Malfoy's miles ahead. My throat feels dry, my heart's pounding wildly in my chest. He's at Malfoy's ankles - he's level with Malfoy - and I let out a breath, not realizing I was holding it.

Harry holds up his hand triumphantly, the Snitch clasped tightly inside it.  _We've won_.

The stadium completely explodes, me shamelessly cheering along as loud as I possible can. I race to him before anybody else can reach him, and fling my arms around him.

"You've done it! We've done it! We won!" I exclaim, grinning so broadly my face hurts.

Oliver joins us, sobbing unrestrainedly. The rest of the team joins us, and, tangled in a many-armed hug, we sink slowly to the ground, the applause ringing in my ears.

A huge cluster of Gryffindor supporters race toward us, pour over the barriers onto the field. Hands are raining down on our backs, us still in our hug. I have the odd impression of noises and bodies pressing in on us. We finally pull away from our many-armed hug, and hug each other separately. Oliver says something to me that makes me happier than ever. And I didn't think that was even possible.

"I'm so glad I put you on the team," he whispers to me, as he hugs me. "One of the best decisions I've made as a captain."

I beam at him so widely that my face literally hurts so much, but I don't care at all right now.

"Oliver Wood, you were a fantastic captain. I'm sure one of the best Hogwarts has ever seen," I say honestly. "And if you're not on a professional team, I'm coming to see you to yell at you until you change your mind!"

Beaming, he hugs me again, before turning to hug others. After George and I have a mini celebration, which included hugging and dancing like complete idiots, I turn and come fact to face with Fred.

"WE DID IT!" I yell, flinging my arms around him and hugging him so fiercely that he stumbles slightly, laughing. He picks me up and spins me around.

"We did," he agrees quietly into my ear. "You were right, Knight,"

Our faces are inches apart, and our faces start inching closer together. Even though I fancy him like crazy, I can tell that it's a spur of the moment thing. I know it is. It's completely obvious. But am I really one to complain? Every victory has to have a victory kiss, doesn't it? But Oliver yells at us to come on to the stadium, where Dumbledore stands with the Quidditch Cup. The Cup Gryffindor has deserved to have for two other years. Finally, it's  _ours._

Fred and I beam at each other, putting our little moment from our minds for a second, beside ourselves at what's waiting for us. As I walk by, I see Ron and Hermione, who're at a loss for words.

I fling my arms around them for a second, shouting, "We won! Can you believe it? We won!" And I hurry back with the rest of the team. I see Percy, jumping up and down like a complete maniac, all dignity forgotten for once in his life. McGonagall's sobbing even harder than Oliver - another thing I didn't think was possible - wiping her eyes on her giant Gryffindor flag.

A sobbing Oliver passes the Cup over to Harry, as we're taking turns holding the glorious thing. He passes to me after he has his minutes of glory, and I hold it, unable to believe that this is actually happening. That I'm actually holding this. That all our practising and hard work was actually worth it in the end. That everything paid off. And you want to know how it paid off? Well, you already know, of course, but I just can't get over it. Can't get over the fantastic, unbelievable,  _amazing_ fact that  _we won._


	31. Exam Week

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Thirty-One: Exam Week**

 

The euphoria from winning the Quidditch Cup lasts about a week. Even the weather's celebrating with us; as June approaches, the weather becomes cloudless and warm, so all anyone wants to do is stroll around the grounds, flop onto the grass with several pints of pumpkin juice, and just do whatever pleases them, whether's it's playing a game of Exploding Snap, talking, or just watching the giant squid propel itself dreamily through the surface of the lake. Sadly, we can't do something so amazing.

It's almost exam time, so students are forced to stay inside the castle, forcing our brains to focus on our notes, instead of wandering to the gorgeous weather outside, and all the things we'd rather be doing. Even Fred and George can be seeing working for once in their lives, and for good reason; they're going to be taking their O.W.L.s - ordinary wizarding levels. Percy's getting ready to enter his N.E.W.T.s - Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests. The name makes me really excited to take them, all right - Percy needs top grades, as he hopes to enter the Ministry of Magic. Because of this, he's becoming increasingly edgy, and has begun setting severe punishments to anybody who disturbs the quiet of the common room during the evenings.

In fact, the only person more edgy and anxious than Percy, is Hermione. She's very likely to either completely explode or completely breakdown whenever someone interrupts her studying.

On the morning of the first day of exams - AKA Monday - I look down at the exam schedule that I've drawn for myself, to see what exams I have today.

 

_Monday_

_9 o'clock, Arithmancy_

_9 o'clock, Transfiguration_

_Lunch_

_1 o'clock, Charms_

_1 o'clock, Ancient Runes_

 

All right, time for some last minute revision, then. I open my bag, and begin looking for my Arithmancy notes. Just as I find it, Ron saying my name makes me look up.

"Hermione? Hazel?" he says tentatively, knowing how likely we are to explode at the littlest things. Yes, I admit, I'm very guilty of it myself. "Er - are you sure you've copied down these times right?"

"Of course we have," I say immediately.

"Is there any point asking how you two are going to sit through two exams at once?" Harry asks.

"No," Hermione says shortly. "Have any of you seen my copy of  _Numerology and Gramatica_?"

"Oh, yeah, I borrowed it for a bit of bedtime reading," Ron mutters quietly, so Hermione doesn't hear.

I shake my head at him, then read through my Arithmancy notes a few times. I put them away, and pull out my Transfiguration notes. I'm halfway through, when someone behind me pulls the parchment right from my hands.

"Hey!" I protest. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

I turn around and find that none other than Fred Weasley is holding my notes.

"Breakfast first, then studying," George answers firmly for him. "Besides, with all the studying you've been doing, you hardly need this."

"Come on, give that back," I say, slightly annoyed. "I'll finish eating right after. Promise."

"How about you finish eating first?" Fred suggests cheekily.

"Now you're just  _trying_ to wind me up," I say angrily.

"And it's working," Fred agrees, smirking.

"You complete prat!" I exclaim, getting to my feet.

Unfortunately, there's a downside to this. I hadn't realized how close Fred is to my seat, so when I stand up, our bodies are quite a but closer than I would've liked. I'd like to take a step back, but unfortunately, I have no room to. I start blushing furiously, but I still glare determinedly up at him. Why does this have to happen? I've been caught in so many moments like this with Fred ever since we almost kissed. Constant teasing from Lee, George, Harry, Ron and sometimes Hermione, doesn't help my embarrassment, though I'll admit it does help lighten the mood, and defuse some awkwardness...

Once, before he actually started studying, he'd played a prank on Filch, and I suppose he had been running away from him or something. I had been hurrying from the common room to the library, and I literally bumped into him. The end result was that I ended up on top of him.

Another time, I was allowing myself a five minute break to talk to Fred, George, and Lee, and Fred, as usual, has his arm around me. Due to the fact that he had been leaning in slightly to pay better attention to what Lee was saying, when I turned to face him, our lips were literally only an inch away from each other.

And now, here we are, in yet another awkward position. My anger fades from my face, since it's slowly fading away on the inside. How could I be furious at him for stealing my notes, when we're in another position where we could kiss? I but my lip nervously, looking from the floor, to his eyes. I glance at his lips for a second, before going back up to his eyes. Fred's smirking slightly, looking back at me.

"Enjoying yourself, are you?" he asks.

"You wish," I whisper weakly.

"What this new side of you? What happened to the oh, so cool, Hazel Knight?"

"I never claimed to be anything like that," I mutter honestly.

This only makes him smirk more. Why am I acting so obviously nervous? Damn me, and my lack of subtlety...

"Erm - uh - so - um - yeah - uh - so - er - um - my - uh - my - my notes, then?" I stutter nervously. Dammit, why does he have to do this to me?

"What're the magic words?" he whispers, clearly enjoying how nervous and awkward I'm being.

"Um - please? I mean, er, pretty please?" I guess weakly.

"Try again," he says, smirking.

"I'll finish breakfast first," I mumble.

"There you go," Fred says, laughing, and finally gives me my notes.

"Hello! People are actually trying to eat, here!" George says loudly, making Fred and I finally break eye contact. "Don't make them vomit!"

"Right," Fred mutters. "You better finish first," he adds to me, before walking away with George.

Blushing wildly, I sit back down, and poke at my porridge. I look up, and see Ron pretending to throw up into his own porridge, Harry smirking in an all-knowing way, and Hermione having a look on her face that quite plainly says 'Maybe  _I_ should teach Divination, instead.'

"Stop that, all of you," I say, blushing even more, and taking a reluctant bite of my porridge.

I catch Fred and George's eye, and they give me mocking thumbs up's. I stick my tongue out at them, carefully avoiding direct eye contact with Fred. Luckily, at that moment, Midnight flies through, giving me an excuse to look away. A note's clutched tightly in his beak. He lands on the table, and I take the note from his beak gently, and allow him to nibble at the bowl of granola I was going to eat. I rip the note open.

"It's from Hagrid," I announce, scanning the note. "Buckbeak's appeal - it's set for the sixth."

"That's the day we finish exams," Hermione points out idly, still looking everywhere for her Arithmancy book.

"And they're coming up here to do it," I add, still reading the letter. "Someone from the Ministry of Magic - and an executioner."

Harry, Ron, and even Hermione look up, startled.

"They're bringing the executioner to the appeal?!" Hermione exclaims. "But that sounds like they've already decided."

"Yeah, it does," Harry agrees slowly.

"They can't!" Ron growls. "I've spent  _ages_ reading up stuff for him - they can't just ignore it all!"

But I just know that the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures have already had their minds made up. And they've have their minds made up by Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy, who's been rather subdued since Gryffindor won the House Cup, has been regaining some of his former swagger back by making sneering comments about how Buckbeak's going to be killed, and looks thoroughly pleased about the whole thing. God, I hate him...

The beginning of exams drives everything else from my mind. After our Transfiguration exam, the third years exit ashen faced and limp, comparing results, and complaining about the difficulty of the tasks we've been set, which included turning a teapot into a tortoise. Hermione's being quite annoying, fussing over how her tortoise looked more like a turtle. That's the least of everyone else's worries. My tortoise's breath was a lot warmer than it should be - though it didn't breathe steam, like Parvati's - and a bit of it's shell had a willow shaped pattern, but otherwise, I did okay.

Hermione and I use our time-turners to go back to our Arithmancy exam. I know for sure I did terrible. I mean, I don't think I failed, which is good, but I definitely wasn't the best. Or second best, for that matter. Or even third best. You get the idea, don't you?

After a hasty lunch, we go straight upstairs for our Charms exams. My Cheering Charm was pretty good, but just a teensy bit over the top, due to nerves. It's not like Harry, who, from his nerves, overdid his so much that Ron burst into hysterical laughter and had to be led to a quiet room for an hour before he could cast the charm himself. I won't lie to you, it was hilarious to see.

After dinner, students hurry back to their common room. Not to relax, unfortunately, but to study for their exams tomorrow. For the third year Gryffindors, they include Potions, Astronomy, and Care of Magical Creatures exam; his heart didn't seem to be in it at all. He's provided a large tub of Flobberworms for the class, and our task is to make sure that they're still alive an hour later. This is easily the easiest exam we've ever sat through, because Flobberworms are just best left alone. This gives Harry, Ron, Hermione and I time to talk to Hagrid. Needless to say, he's very depressed over Buckbeak.

Potions could've been worse for me. Sadly, my Confusing Concoction wasn't as thick as it was supposed to be, but it could be worse. Astronomy goes a lot better. I know I did horribly on History of Magic. It was just very difficult to focus that Wednesday morning, and I could hardly remember all the dates and names.

I'm quite happy during dinner that day, after the Herbology exam - which I think I did quite good on - because there's only one more of these torturous exams before we're free.

Our second to last exam, set on Thursday morning, is Defence Against the Dark Arts. Remus has created the best and weirdest exam in the history of the world. It's a sort of obstacle course outside in the grounds, where we have to wade into a deep paddling pool containing a Grindylow, cross a series of potholes full of Red Caps, squash out way into a patch full of marsh while ignoring misleading directions from a Hinkypunk, then climb into a trunk and battle with a new Boggart. So much better than sitting through an exam. Though I'll admit, I'm terrified of what the Boggart will show...

I do pretty good at the first bit, until I climb into the trunk to battle with the Boggart. I turn and find Harry -  _dead_. I let out a gasp, but before I can do anything else, it changes into a dead Ron with a crack. With another crack, dead Hermione faces me. Then dead Ginny. Dead Remus. Dead George. Dead Fred.

Then I remember it's a Boggart, and cry, " _Riddikulus_!"

With a crack, Fred gets to his feet, and begins tap dancing awkwardly. Oh, God! This is  _too_ good! I start laughing hysterically, then remember to exit the trunk. Remus takes my smile and my fairly short time as a good sign.

"Excellent! Full marks, Hazel!" Remus says.

Smiling, I sit down on the grass next to Harry, as we wait for Ron and Hermione to have a go on the course.

"He's  _so_ playing favourites," Harry teases, since I obviously told him Remus is my godfather.

"Or maybe I'm just better than you?" I suggest, laughing.

"I got full marks, too!" Harry says matter-of-factly, grinning. "So, ha!"

"Please, I bet he only said that to make you feel better," I counter, smiling.

Laughing, we watch Ron take his exam. Ron does brilliantly until he reaches the Hinkypunk, who successfully confuses him to wade into waist-high quagmire. Hermione, of course, does everything perfectly. That is, until she reaches the Boggart. After about a minute inside the trunk, she bursts out again, screaming.

"Hermione!" Lupin exclaims, startled. "What's the matter?"

"P - P - Professor McGonagall!" Hermione gasps, pointing at the trunk. "Sh - she said I'd failed everything!"

It takes a while to calm Hermione down. When she's at last okay, she, Harry, Ron and I head back up to the castle. It's obvious that Ron wants to laugh at Hermione, because failing everything is  _actually_ her worst fear, but a fight is avoided by the sight we see at the top of the steps.

"Hello there, Harry!" none other than Cornelius Fudge says. "Just had an exam, I expect? Nearly finished?"

"Yes," Harry replies, as Ron, Hermione and I hover behind awkwardly, not being on speaking terms with Fudge.

"Lovely day. Pity... Pity..." he sighs, casting a look over the lake. Then, he turns to look at Harry. "I'm here on an unpleasant mission, Harry. The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures required a witness to the execution to a mad Hippogriff. As I needed to visit Hogwarts to check on the Black situation, I was asked to step in."

"Wait," I say suddenly, stepping forward, "does that mean that the appeal's already happened?"

"No, no, it's scheduled for this afternoon." Fudge replies, looking curiously at me.

"Then you might not have to witness an execution after all!" Ron says shortly, stepping forward as well. "The Hippogriff might get off!"

Before Fudge can answer this very true statement, two wizards come through the castle door behind him. One is so ancient looking he looks like he's withering before our very eyes; the other is tall, with a very thin black moustache. I suppose they're representatives of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, because the older one squints over at Hagrid's cabin, and says in a feeble voice, "Dear, dear, I'm getting too old for this.. Two o'clock, isn't it, Fudge?"

The man with the black moustache is fingering something in his belt. I look and see that he's running one broad thumb over the blade of a shining axe. Ron opens his mouth furiously, but Hermione nudges him hard in the ribs, and jerks her head toward the Entrance Hall.

"Why'd you stop me?" Ron asks furiously. "They're already got an axe ready! This isn't justice!"

"Ron, your dad works for the Ministry, you can't go saying things like that to his boss!" Hermione exclaims, but she looks very upset as well. "As long as Hagrid keeps his head this time, and argues his case properly, they should let Buckbeak off."

But I can tell Hermione doesn't even believe what she's saying. The last exam for Harry, Ron and I is Divination; for Hermione, it's Muggle Studies. After lunch, we say goodbye to Hermione, and walk up to the tower, to find the entire class on the spiral staircase, doing a last minute cramming.

"She's seeing us all separately," Neville informs us.

The line outside the classroom shortens very slowly. Whenever someone comes down, despite the rest of us asking desperately for what's being done, they refuse to say. Neville says that something bad'll happen if you tell. Doubt it. That's probably just to prevent cheating. Soon, Ron is called up, leaving only Harry and I. We sit down, and look out the window, thinking of Hagrid's appeal this afternoon. Twenty minutes later, Ron climbs back down the ladder.

"How'd it go?" I ask.

"Rubbish," Ron replies simply. "I couldn't see a thing, so I made some stuff up. Don't think she was convinced, though..."

"Hazel Knight!" Trelawney's misty voice calls.

Sighing, I get to my feet, and climb clumsily up the ladder. The tower room is hotter than ever. The curtains are closed, the fire is alight, and the usual sickly scent is so heavy that I cough as I stumble awkwardly through the cluttered chairs to reach Professor Trelawney. I take a seat across from her.

"Good day, my dear," she says softly. "If you would kindly gaze into this Orb, take your time now... then tell me what you see within it..."

I gaze into the large crystal ball, and try as I might, I can't see anything but the white, swirling fog. When Trelawney promptly asks me what I see, I decide to take a leaf out of Ron's book, and wing it. I just want to get out of here. I don't care if I pass this stupid subject. I hate it and I'm never going to need it in my life, anyway.

"I see... a dog," I decide slowly, as though I'm still trying to make out what it is. Deciding to get in on her good books, I add, "It sort of looks like The Grim."

"Do you see someone dying?" she asks promptly, scribbling away on the parchment on her knees. "Is it a particularly gruesome death? Does it happen to be Mr. Potter?"

"No!" I exclaim. "No. Definitely not. It's, erm, in a cave. I'm not even sure it  _is_ the Grim. It looks a teeny bit different..."

"Very well," Trelawney says, looking disappointed. "We'll leave it here, I think..."

"All right," I say immediately, getting to my feet, and walking to the trapdoor as quick as I can without it looking like I actually  _do_ want to leave. I climb down the ladder.

"How'd it go?" Harry asks, but I bet he already knows the answer to that.

"Terrible, how else?" I ask. "I decided to take a leaf out of Ron's book and just wing it. I reckon she was disappointed, but, hey, at least she thinks I saw something..."

"See you back in the common room," Harry says, as Trelawney calls in her misty voice, "Harry Potter..."

"Good luck," I say, in a tone that suggests that he's about to enter one of the most miserable places you could ever be in, ever.

As I walk back down to the common room, I can't help but feel a little happy. Even though Buckbeak's appeal is making me extremely nervous, I have to happily remind myself that it's over. Exams are finally over. All that stressing out over work is finally over.


	32. It's Just Not Fair!

**Curses are the Worst**

**Chapter Thirty-Two: It's Just Not Fair!**

 

I jog through the corridors happily, then remember Buckbeak's appeal. I slow down, and look out a window sadly. There's no chance Hagrid won the appeal. Even if he did brilliantly, Lucius Malfoy already made up the minds of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. I turn the corner and run into George.

"Oh, hey, Hazel!" George says brightly.

"Hey, George," I say distractedly.

"What's wrong, Knight?" George asks. "I thought you'd be over the moon. Exams are over!"

"Yeah, great..." I agree, forcing a smile.

"Seriously, Hazel, what's on your mind?" George asks.

"Buckbeak," I say, sighing.

"What about Buc-" he begins, then stops midway, realizing. "Oh, no, he's going to be-"

"Yes," I interrupt, not wanting to hear the word 'executed'.

"But he's innocent," George exclaims.

"Like that matters," I say bitterly.

"What d'you mean?" George asks.

"Let's just say that Lucius Malfoy had a hand in deciding what should happen to Buckbeak," I reply.

"Of course," George says angrily.

"Of course, what?" Fred asks, arriving in on the scene.

"Of course Buckbeak is going to be unfairly executed, because Lucius Malfoy is a giant bastard, and threatened the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures to sentence him to death," I reply hotly, my words coming out a lot faster than I had expected.

"Oh, that," he mumbles. "Well, there's still the appeal."

"Oh, the  _appeal_ ," I scoff harshly. "Because Hagrid still totally has a chance!"

"That's a bit harsh," Fred mutters.

"But true!" I snap.

"Maybe, but-" George begins.

"But what?! There's nothing else to say!" I exclaim, feeling like breaking down and crying. "All the hard work put into this, all the research, all of it - useless! And now an innocent life is going to end. And you wanna know why? Because Draco fucking Malfoy didn't listen to what Hagrid clearly stated, and got himself injured, and his stupid-ass father barged in and threatened the stupid Committee for the stupid Disposal of stupid Dangerous Creatures to do anything he fucking wanted!"

"Hazel-" Fred begins.

"It's not like-" George adds at the same time.

"Don't you go and say it'll be all right or something. That it'll all work out. Because it's not going to be all right. Nothing  _anybody_ does will make  _any_ difference!" I exclaim, blinking back tears of frustration, sadness, and anger.

"Well, maybe Dumbledore-" George begins, but I cut him off.

"Dumbledore may be a genius and have influence on the Ministry, but the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures aren't going to have their minds changed, especially when they've been  _threatened_!" I exclaim.

"I'm really sorry, Hazel," Fred says helplessly.

"Anything we can do to help?" George adds.

"Kill Lucius Malfoy for me, all right?" I joke weakly. "I'm sorry for snapping at you. It's just - it's just not fair."

"Well, life isn't very fair," George says, shrugging.

"I just wish the Ministry would pick people who could stand up to people like Lucius Malfoy," I mumble. "like me. Not to brag, I mean, if I was in their position, I would slap the bastard right in the face."

"Well, of course you would," Fred says, laughing. "We all know you're just  _terrifying_ when you're mad."

"That better not be sarcasm, Weasley," I joke weakly.

"Oh, it's not," Fred says earnestly. "You're literally really scary."

"Thanks, I try," I say, laughing a little. "I'm going to find Ron and Hermione. Maybe Hagrid's sent them something."

"I thought Hagrid has no chance," George says, raising his eyebrows.

"He doesn't, but miracles have happened, haven't they?" I reply, shrugging. "See you later."

I wave at them, and start to turn to leave, but notice something. I stop abruptly, looking at Fred. He's blatantly staring at me, looking at me up and down, as though he's never seen me before. His eyes travel up to my lips for the longest time, before going to my eyes. That's when he notices I've noticed him, and he turns away quickly. Maybe I'm just hallucinating, but that's a bit of a blush on his face.

"What's going on?" George asks, raising his eyebrows at us.

"Nothing," we say at the same time, but I'm raising an eyebrow questioningly at Fred myself.

"I'll see you guys later," I say, wave, and turn away.

"See you later, Knight," they say at the same time.

With that, I start walking for the common room again. My mind is racing about Fred. That moment. Buckbeak. It's all a jumbled mess in my mind. I can't focus on one thing longer than about ten seconds. In about five minutes, I'm nearly there. Hearing my name being called makes me freeze, very tense. Then I realize it's Harry's voice. I relax and turn around.

"Yeah?" I ask.

"You won't believe what just happened," he said, taking my wrist and dragging me the rest of the way to the common room.

"What happened? Tell me!" I say curiously.

"When we find Ron and Hermione," Harry replies, tells the Fat Lady the password hurriedly, and we scramble through the portrait hole.

Finding them turns out to be very easy, because the only two people in the common room are Ron and Hermione themselves.

"Professor Trelawney just told me-" Harry says, but then stops.

I'm a bit annoyed at this, because I want to know what the hell all this is about, and what Trelawney has to do with it, but then I look at Ron and Hermione's expressions, and get distracted as well.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"Buckbeak lost," Ron replies miserably and simply, holding out a note. "Hagrid sent this."

I take it, and Harry looks over my shoulder to read it. The note's dry this time, so he wasn't crying, at least. But while he was writing this, it seems like his hands were shaking a lot, because the writing is hardly legible.

 

_Lost appeal. They're going to execute at sunset. Nothing you can do. Don't come down. I don't want you to see it._

_Hagrid._

 

"We've got to go," Harry says at once. "He can't just sit there on his own, waiting for the execution!"

"Sunset, though..." Ron points out, staring out the window. "We'd never be allowed to go... 'specially you, Harry."

"Oh, like we've never done something that's against the rules before," I snap, waving my hand around impatiently as if this signifies that what Ron's saying is utter rubbish.

"But with all the security..." Hermione points out. "We're bound to get caught!"

"If only we had the Invisibility Cloak," Harry uses, putting his head into his hands.

"Where is it?" Hermione asks, straightening up in her seat.

Harry tells her all about the one-eyed witch statue, concluding with, "If Snape sees me anywhere near them again, I'm in serious trouble."

"That's true," Hermione agrees, getting to her feet. "If he sees  _you_. How d'you open the witch's hump again?"

"You - you tap it and say ' _Dissendium_ '," Harry replies. "But-"

But Hermione doesn't wait for the rest of Harry's sentence. She strides across the common room, and exits through the portrait hole. We all look after her in disbelief.

"She hasn't gone to get it, has she?" Ron exclaims.

But she has. She returns fifteen minutes later with the cloak. So, that's that, then. We're going to give Hagrid a visit, even if he doesn't know it, or want it.

We go down to dinner with everyone else, but we don't return to the common room. We discreetly duck into an empty chamber off the Entrance Hall, listening, until we're certain it's deserted. We throw the cloak on, and walk out, sticking very close together so nobody can see us.

As we walk, I brace myself. Brace myself for a miserable, gloomy, grim atmosphere, and an emotionally fragile Hagrid - which is never nice to see, if I'm honest. Ugh, I can't stand it! It's not fair! The injustice of the thing makes me want to cry, throw up, and punch something, all at the same time. It's really good to know how weak out government is... Real reassuring...


	33. The Execution

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Thirty-Three: The Execution**

 

Midway through, we find some unexpected people. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. Great, of course. They're laughing at Hagrid, clearly excited for the execution. The sight of it makes me sick. Unable to help it, Hermione ducks out from under the cloak, storming over to Malfoy furiously.

Harry, Ron and I exchange incredulous glances, and then duck under the cloak as well, Harry shoving it behind his back. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle turn and see Hermione storming towards them.

"Ah, come to see the show?" Malfoy drawls.

"You - you foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach!" she exclaim, pulling out her wand as she goes.

When she finally reaches Malfoy, and points her wand at his neck, Ron says, "Hermione, no! He's not worth it."

She stares at him with a stony expression for the longest time, but finally lowers her wand and turns to walk away. When Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle start to laugh at her, however, she turns around and punches him right in the face! Malfoy staggers backwards, while Crabbe and Goyle hover awkwardly and stupidly, not sure of what to do.

"Come on," Malfoy says after a moment, and they head back for the castle, Malfoy cursing bitterly.

Hermione turns to us, smiling sheepishly, and says, "That felt good."

"Not good," I say. "More like brilliant!"

"Merlin, Hermione," Ron says, goggling at her. "I don't know what's gotten into you lately. First walking out on Trelawney, then getting the cloak, now this?"

Hermione looks rather flattered at that. We hurry down to Hagrid's cabin, and Harry knocks on the door.

"Yeh shouldn've come!" Hagrid whispers, but steps aside and let us come in anyway.

Hagrid shuts the door quickly behind us. Hagrid isn't crying, now is he throwing himself at us. He simply looks like a lost man who doesn't know where he is or what to do. I'll be honest, the helplessness is harder to watch than the tears.

"Wan' some tea?" Hagrid asks. His hands shake as he reaches for the kettle.

"Where's Buckbeak, Hagrid?" Hermione asks hesitantly.

"I-I took him outside," Hagrid replies, spilling milk all over the table as he fills up the jug. "He's tethered in me pumpkin patch. Though' he oughta see the trees an' - an' smell fresh air - before-"

Hagrid's hands are trembling so violently that the milk jug slips from his grasp and crashes to the floor.

"I'll do it, Hagrid," Hermione says quickly, and goes to clean the mess.

"There's another one in the cupboard," Hagrid says miserably, sitting down, while Harry, Ron and I look at each other helplessly.

"Isn't there something we can do, Hagrid?" Harry says fiercely. "Dumbledore-"

"He tried," Hagrid says. "He's got no power to overrule the Committee. He told 'em Buckbeak's all right, but they're scared... Yeh know how Lucius Malfoy's like..."

"Sadly," I mumble.

"... Threatened 'em, I expect," Hagrid goes on. "And the executioner, Macnair, he's an old pal of Malfoy's... but it'll be quick and clean... an' I'll be beside him..." Hagrid swallows, his eyes darting around the room for some sort of sign of hope and comfort. "Dumbledore's going to come down while - while it happens. Wrote me this mornin'. Said he wants ter - ter be with me. Great man, Dumbledore..."

I blink quickly and bite my lip, desperately trying to fight back tears. Hermione, rummaging through Hagrid's cupboard, lets out a small, stifled sob. She straightens up, with the new jug, fighting back tears, just like me.

"We'll stay with you too, Hagrid," Hermione insists, but Hagrid shakes his head.

"Yeh're ter go back up ter the castle. I told yeh, I don't want yeh ter be watchin'. An' you shouldn' be down here anyway... If Fudge an' Dumbledore catch yeh out without permission, Harry, yeh'll be in big trouble."

Silent tears are now streaming down Hermione's face, but she quickly hides them from Hagrid, bustling around to make tea. As she picks up the milk to pour some into the jug, she lets out a shriek.

"Ron - I don't believe it - it's  _Scabbers_!"

" _What_?" I exclaim, as Ron gapes at her.

"What're you talking about?" Ron asks.

Hermione carries the milk jug over to the table, and flips it upside down. With a frantic squeak, Scabbers the rat slides onto the table, struggling to get back inside.

"Scabbers!" Ron says blankly. "Scabbers, what're you doing here?"

He grabs the struggling rat, and holds him up the light. Scabbers, to be blunt, is looking dreadful. He's thinner than ever; large tufts of hair have fallen out, leaving bald patches; and he writes in Ron's hand, clearly desperate to free himself. A part of me wishes he  _was_ dead, so the poor thing doesn't have to suffer so much.

"It's okay, Scabbers! No cats!" Ron insists.

Hagrid suddenly stands up, his eyes fixed on the window. His normally ruddy face goes the colour of parchment, as he says, "They're comin'..."

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I all whip around. A group of men are walking down the distant castle steps. In front is Dumbledore, his long, silver beard gleaming in the dying sun. Next to him is Fudge. Behind them is the feeble old man, and the executioner, Macnair.

"Yeh gotta go," Hagrid says, every inch of him trembling. "They musn' find you here. Go now..."

Ron stuffs Scabbers in his pocket, and I pick up the cloak.

"I'll let you out the back way," Hagrid whispers.

We follow Hagrid out to the back garden. I feel weirdly unreal, and even more so when I see Buckbeak a few yards away, tethered to a tree behind Hagrid's pumpkin patch. Buckbeak seems to know something's happening. He turns his head from side to side, and paws the ground nervously. As if he knows that his time is soon.

"It's okay, Beaky," Hagrid whispers. "It's okay..." he turns to us. "Go on. Get goin'."

None of us move.

"Hagrid, we can't-"

"Can't we just-?"

"We'll tell them what really happened-"

"They can't kill him-"

"Go!" Hagrid insists fiercely. "It's bad enough without you lot in trouble an' all!"

There's no choice. I throw the cloak over us, and we hear voices at the front of the cabin. Hagrid looks at the spot we just vanished from.

"Go quick," he mutters. "Don' listen."

And he strides back to the cabin as someone knocks on the door. In a sort of horrified trance, we set off away from Hagrid's cabin. As we reach the other side, the front door closes with a sharp snap.

"Please let's hurry," Hermione whispers.

"Please," I add, nodding earnestly. "I can't stand it."

We start up the slowly sloping lawn. The sun is sinking fast now, purple tinged grey, but to the west, there's a ruby red glow. Ron suddenly stops dead.

"Oh, please, Ron," Hermione begins, slightly distraught.

"It's - Scabbers - he won't - stay put-"

Ron's bent over, trying to keep Scabbers in place, but the rat's going completely mental; squeaking madly, flailing and twisting, and trying to bite Ron's hand.

"Scabbers, you idiot - it's - me, it's Ron!" he hisses.

We can hear the door close behind us, and men's voices talking.

"Ron, please, let's go!" I hiss desperately.

"Okay - Scabbers, stay _put_!"

Finally, we start walking forward again; I'm putting all my effort to not listen to the rumble of voices behind us. Ron stops again.

"I can't hold him - Scabbers, shut up, everyone'll hear us-"

The rat's squealing wildly, but not loud enough to cover up the sounds drifting from Hagrid's garden. There's a jumble of indistinct male voices, a silence, and then the unmistakable swish and thud of an axe. I inhale sharply, suddenly feeling like throwing up and crying all at once. Hermione sways on the spot.

"They did it!" she whispers. "I d-don't believe it - they did it!"

My mind's gone blank with shock. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I stand still, transfixed with horror. The last rays of sun are casting a bloody light over the grounds. Then, behind us, we can hear a wild howl.

"Hagrid," Harry mutters, and he makes to run back, but Hermione and Ron grab his arms.

"We can't," I murmur. "He'll be in worse trouble if they know we've been to see him."

Hermione's breathing is shallow and uneven.

"How - could - they," she chokes. "How  _could_ they?"

"Heartless," I whisper, wiping away a tear that escaped from my eye. "Heartless, cruel, vile, evil."

I'm hardly able to string together coherent sentences, so I'm just choking out words that describe them.

"Come on," Ron says, his teeth apparently chattering.

We set off for the grounds, walking slowly to keep ourselves hidden. I'm blinking furiously, tears brimming in my eyes, threatening to come out. Light is fading fast now. By the time we reach open ground, darkness has settled around us like a spell.

"Scabbers, keep still!" Ron hisses, clamping his hand over his chest. Scabbers is wriggling madly. But  _why_ , though? Ron comes to a sudden stop, trying to force Scabbers deeper into his pocket. "What's the matter with you, you stupid rat? Stay still - OUCH! He bit me!"

"Keep your voice down!" I hiss. "Fudge'll be out any minute!"

"He - won't - stay - put!" Scabbers is clearly very terrified. He's writing with all his might, trying to break free of Ron's grip. "What's the  _matter_ with him?"

But suddenly I see - prowling toward us, his body low on the ground, wide yellow eyes glinting eerily in the darkness - Crookshanks. I'm not really sure if he can see us or if he can just hear the sound of Scabbers repeatedly squeaking... Who knows, maybe it's both...

"Crookshanks!" Hermione moans. "No, go away, Crookshanks! Go away!"

But the cat's getting closer and closer.

"Scabbers, no-!" Ron exclaims, but it's too late.

The rat slips through Ron's fingers, hits the ground and scampers away. In one bound, Crookshanks springs after him, and before Harry, Hermione or I could stop him, Ron ducks out from under the cloak, and pelts away in the darkness.

" _Ron_!" Hermione moans.

Harry, Hermione and I all glance at each other, then follow at a sprint. Turns out it's rather hard to run full out under the cloak, so we pull it off and it streams behind us like a banner as we run after Ron. We can hear his footsteps thundering ahead, and his shouts at Crookshanks.

"Get away from him - get away - Scabbers, come  _here_ -"

There's a loud thud.

"Gotcha! Get off, you stinking cat-"

Harry, Hermione and I nearly fall over Ron; we skid to a stop right in front of him. He's sprawled on the ground, but Scabbers is back in his pocket; he has both of his hands over the quivering lump.

"Ron - come back under the cloak," Hermione's panting. "Dumbledore - the Minister - they'll be coming out in a minute-"

But before we can cover ourselves again, before we can even catch our breaths, we hear the soft pounding of gigantic paws... Something's bounding toward us, quiet as a shadow - I turn around, and see a giant, pale-eyed, jet black dog. I try and reach for by wand, but before I can get it, the dog tackles Harry to the ground. his leap carries him too far, and he rolls over Harry.

My wand out, I try to think of a spell that would have some sort of an affect, but the dog's already ready for its second attack. It leaps and fastens it's teeth around Ron's arm just as he gets to his feet. I lunge forward to stop the dog, but my fingers just slip through the filthy hair. Harry gives an attempt to stop him, but fails as well. The dog drags Ron away as easily as a rag doll, heading for the Whomping Willow, and ducking into a sort of hole. Wait a minute...

But before I can get any more of my thoughts together, I'm hit in the stomach so hard that I go flying several feet, completely winded. I land on the grass with a soft thud, rubbing my stomach. I can already feel a large bruise sprouting. I moan in pain.

But I can't lay around in pain for much longer, since I see a huge branch flying down towards me. I let out a scream, and roll over to dodge it. I spring to my feet, and look around, and see Harry and Hermione trying to dodge the deadly branches of the Whomping Willow.

"Shit," I mumble, dodging another one of the huge branches. "This might be a bit harder than I thought..."

Why exactly did I underestimate this tree when I experienced what it could do first-hand just last year? Sometimes I'm a right idiot... I run forward, dodging the deadly branches, determined to get to that hole. If that dog can do it, dragging Ron along with it, so can I.

Or - apparently not... A branch wraps around me, and starts swinging me around. I start shrieking at the top of my lungs, completely unable to stop myself. Suddenly, it throws me to the ground, and I shoot through the gap, sliding through the earthly slope, and coming gently to a stop. Well, that was terrifying...

I get up, having to hunch over a bit since the tunnel is rather low, brushing away excess dirt by random instinct, even though I don't really care right now. I can hear Harry and Hermione's screams. They're still struggling with the Whomping Willow. Should I go ahead, or go back and help them?

Immediately, I know to go ahead. How could I possible help Harry and Hermione in a situation like this? I'd be able to help Ron a lot more. I pull our my wand, murmur, " _Lumos_ ", and start walking forward as quickly as I can, my heart pounding wildly, and my breathing shallow.

On and on the passage goes, noticing that this passage seems to be just as long as the passage to Honeydukes. Hearing Ron's groans of pain makes me speed up, but that makes me fall over, so I have to continue at a steady pace. Suddenly, I realize - this leads to Hogsmeade. It's the one passage that the Whomping Willow was sealed over.

Finally, the tunnel begins to rise. Moments later, it twits, and I pause, holding my breath, preparing myself for what's on the other side. Deciding to just get it over with, I rush through. It's a room. And a disordered, dusty room at that. Paper's peeling from the walls; stains cover the floor; every piece of furniture is broken, as if someone smashed it, and the windows are all boarded up. The room is deserted, but a door to the right stands open, leading to a shadowy hallway.

Wait a minute - this is the Shrieking Shack. At least, I think it is. It sure looks like how I imagined the most haunted building in Britain to look like... and the windows are boarded up and everything... I look around the room, and my eyes fall upon a wooden chair. Large chunks have been torn out of it; one of the legs have been torn off entirely. I don't think ghosts did that... As if I wasn't already terrified enough...

At that moment, there's a loud creaking noise up ahead, making my heart speed up even more, which I didn't even think was possible. I look up at the ceiling, gripping my wand tightly in my hand. Ron. He needs help. Now. I enter the hallway, going as quickly as I possible can without making too much noise. I start walking up a crumbling staircase, bracing myself for what must be at the top. Everything is covered in a thick layer of dust except the floor, which has a shiny stripe that looked terribly like blood, made by something being dragged up the stairs. Finally, I reach the dark landing.

" _Nox_ ," I whisper, and the light of my wand goes out.

It's obvious where they are. Only one door is open. Besides, there's a trail of blood. I sneak towards it silently, I hear a low moan, just as I'm behind the door. I start taking deep, slow breaths, gathering my courage. Finally, I take one more breath, and kick the door open.


	34. Sirius Black

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Thirty-Four: Sirius Black**

 

On the floor, clutching his leg - which is sticking out in an odd, clearly painful way - lay Ron. I rush toward him, and kneel down beside him, taking his shoulder lightly.

"Ron, are you okay?" I ask quietly. "Where's the dog?"

"Not a dog..." Ron moans, his teeth gritted in pain.

"What?" I say, puzzled.

"It's a trap," Ron continues. "Harry - is he coming up here?"

"What-? Yeah, he'll be here any minute," I say, confused. "Why?"

"He's the dog. He's an Animagus," Ron chokes out, looking over my shoulder.

I turn around. When I see the man, my heart almost stops. The man has a mass of filthy, matted hair, that hangs to his elbows. If there weren't eyes shining in those deep, dark sockets, he could've been a corpse. The waxy skin is stretched so tightly over the bones of his face, it looks like a skull. his yellow teeth are bared in a grin. It's Sirius Black.

" _You_ ," I whisper, unable to believe it, my eyes travelling up and down, looking to see if he has Ron's wand. He does.

I raise my wand quickly to say some sort of spell, but he's one step ahead of me, saying, " _Expelliarmus_!"

My wand shoots out of my hand, flies high in the air, and Black catches it. Shit. I subtly step over in front of Ron, willing to protect him with my life, since he has no wand, and he obviously can't really move.

"What do you want?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.

"Just finishing something that should've been done a long time ago," he replies hoarsely, as though he's lost the habit of using it.

"Listen to me," I say threateningly. "I don't care  _what_ kind of dark magic Voldemort has shown you, I don't care if you have my wand, I don't care about any of that. you hurt Harry even a little bit, and I'll make sure the Dementors have their way with you."

"Is that so?" Black drawls, not looking very scared at all.

"Yeah, that's so," I reply, my voice quivering slightly.

I hear a creaking noise coming from outside in the hall. I glance towards the source of the noise. Shit. No. Harry. Go. Now. Sadly, Black didn't miss my little glance towards the door, and smirks at me.

"Thank you," he mouths, in a savage sort of triumph, and ducks behind the open door.

Harry and Hermione burst into the door, and I meet them in the middle of the room.

"Harry, leave," I hiss desperately. "Go, get out, now. Go for help or something, just don't stay here!"

"Why? Where's the dog?" Harry asks.

"Is Ron all right?" Hermione adds, confused.

"He's over there," I say impatiently. "His leg's obviously broken, but I reckon he'll be fine. But, Harry, listen, you need to go. It's not a dog."

"What?" Harry says.

"He's an Animagus. He's the dog," I explain quickly, barely able to think straight due to worry. "Harry, just leave now, before it's too late!"

Harry wheels around, seeing that my attention is on the spot Black just vanished. The door shut with a snap, and Black steps out of hiding.

" _Expelliarmus_ ," he croaks immediately, and Harry and Hermione's wands fly out of their hands, and into Black's. Eyes fixed on Harry, he adds hoarsely, "I thought you'd come to help your friend. Your father would've done the same for me. Brave of you not to get a teacher. I'm grateful... It'll make everything much easier..."

I stare at him in disbelief, anger, and hatred. How  _dare_ he bring up Harry's father? Harry starts forward, but Hermione and I quickly grab each one of his arms and pull him back.

"If you want to kill Harry, you'll have to kill us too!" Ron says fiercely to Black, though the effort of standing up drains him of any colour left in his face.

Something flickers in Black's shadowed eyes, as he says quietly to Ron, "Lie down. You'll damage that leg even more."

"Did you hear me?" Ron says weakly, clinging to me to stay upright, and I put an arm around his back to try and steady him. "You'll have to kill all four of us!"

"There'll be only one murder here tonight," Black insists, grinning.

"Why's that?" Harry says harshly, trying to escape our grip. "Didn't mind the last time? What's the matter, gone soft in Azkaban?"

"Harry!" Hermione whimpers. "Be quiet!"

"HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD!" Harry shouts, breaks free of our restraint, and lunges forward onto Black.

Maybe out of surprise, Black didn't raise his wand in time. One of Harry's hands fastens on the wrist that Black's holding the wands in, with his other, he punches Black repeatedly in the head. Hermione's screaming, Ron's yelling. I'm aware of myself screaming, but I don't know what any of us are saying. The wands in Black's hands start shooting sparks, missing Harry's face by inches.

It looks like Harry's doing fairly well fighting Black, until his hands find Harry's throat. They start tightening around his throat, and Harry starts choking, his glasses askew.

"Oh, no, you don't," I hiss, and we all run over and join in on the fight, me helping Ron over, since I can tell he's not going to just sit around and watch.

Hermione kicks Black right in the face, Ron throws himself on Black's wand hand, and I start kicking every bit of Black I can reach. And, well, with combat boots on, I imagine it does hurt a bit.

After about a minute of fighting, in which everyone got hit quite a bit, Harry, clutching his wand once again, shouts, "GET OUT OF THE WAY!"

None of us need to be told twice. We jump off of black, breathing heavily. Ron stumbles back over to the bed, and collapses onto it, both hands clutching his broken leg. Hermione, and I, with several cuts and bruises, scramble aside to get our wands. I walk carefully over to Ron to give him his wand, not taking my eyes off the scene between Black and Harry. Harry's wand is pointed directly at Black's heart.

"Going to kill me, Harry?" Black says softly, sounding very insane.

"You killed my parents," said Harry, his voice shaking, but his wand was quite steady.

"I don't deny it, but if you knew the whole story-" Black says quietly.

"The whole story?!" Harry exclaims. "You sold them out to Voldemort! That's all I need to know-"

"You've got to listen to me," Black insists urgently. "You'll regret it later if you don't-"

Before anything else can be said, we hear muffled footsteps echoing up through the floor. Someone's downstairs.

"WE'RE UP HERE!" Hermione screams suddenly. "WE'RE UP HERE - SIRIUS BLACK - QUICK!"

The door of the room bursts open, and with a shower of sparks, Remus Lupin bursts into the room. I automatically thing that we're safe. But then I find out I'm wrong.

He points his wand at Harry, Ron, Hermione and I and shouts, " _Expelliarmus_!"


	35. After the Madness

**Crushes are the Worst**

**Chapter Thirty-Five: After the Madness**

 

Well, you're a bit behind, so let me explain, yeah? Firstly: Black is, in fact, innocent. he did use to be the Potter's Secret Keeper, but he switched with Peter Pettigrew. It was Pettigrew who ratted the Potters out to Voldemort. He was a filthy coward, and nothing more.

You see, since Remus is a werewolf, Pettigrew, Sirius, my father, and James - who were his best friends and called themselves the Marauders - turned into Animagi to help him during the full moon. My father was a coyote, Sirius was a dog, James was a stag, and Pettigrew, coincidentally, was a rat.

After the Potters died, Sirius chased after him to get his revenge. Pettigrew, however, blasted a Muggle street, and his own hand, and turned into a rat, to make it seem like Sirius was guilty. Pettigrew was then found by the Weasleys. Yeah, that's right, Scabbers is Peter Pettigrew.

So, after we found that out, hell broke loose. Remus turned into a werewolf, as it was the full moon and he hadn't taken his potion; Pettigrew escaped; Ron got attacked by Remus - but he's all right now - Harry, Hermione, Sirius and I almost got our soul sucked out by Dementors. Then Sirius almost got the Dementors Kiss put on his again, but Harry, Hermione and I saved him with the aid of our time turners. We also saved Buckbeak in the process. And now Sirius is off on Buckbeak, escaping from all this.

When Harry, Ron, Hermione and I leave the hospital wing at noon the next day, we find an almost empty castle. The sweltering heat, and the end of exams meant that everyone is taking full advantage of another Hogsmeade trip. I, however, don't feel like going, and neither do Ron and Hermione, so we, along with Harry, wander onto the ground, still talking of the amazing events of last night, and wondering where Sirius and Buckbeak might be now.

After a bit, a shadow crosses over us, and we find a very bleary-eyed Hagrid moping his sweaty face on one of his tablecloth sized handkerchiefs, and beaming down at us.

"I know I shouldn' be happy, with Black escapin' again and everything - but guess what?"

"What?" we ask, pretending to look curious.

"Beaky! He's escaped! He's free! Bin celebratin' all night!"

"That's wonderful," Hermione says, giving Ron a reproving look, as he seems close to laughing.

"Yeah... Can't've tied him up properly..." Hagrid muses, hazing happily over the grounds. "I was worried this mornin'... Thought he mighta met Professor Lupin on the grounds, but Lupin said he never ate anythin' last night."

"What?" Harry says quickly.

"Blimey, haven't yeh heard?" Hagrid asks, his smiling fading a bit. "Er - Snape told all the Slytherins this mornin'. Thought everyone'd know by now. Professor Lupin's a werewolf, see. And he was loose on the grounds las' night. He's packin' now, o' course..."

"What?!" I exclaim. "He's  _packing_? Why?"

"Leavin', isn' he?" Hagrid replies, looking surprised that I even have to ask. "Resigned firs' thing this mornin', Says he can't risk it happening again."

Harry and I scramble to our feet in unison, and say, "I'm going to see him."

"But if he's resigned-" Hermione points out.

"-doesn't sound like there's anything we can do-" Ron interjects.

"I don't care," Harry says.

I nod, and add, "We still want to talk to him."

Remus' office door is open. It seems he's nearly done packing. Lupin's bending over something on his desk, and only looks up when I knock on the door.

"I saw you coming," he says, smiling, pointing at the parchment on his desk. It's the Marauder's Map.

"We've just seen Hagrid," I say. "And he said you've resigned. That's not true, is it?"

"I'm afraid it is," Remus replies.

" _Why_?" Harry asks. "The Ministry of Magic doesn't think you were trying to help Sirius, do they?"

"No," Remus replies simply. "Professor Dumbledore managed to convince Fudge that I was trying to save your lives. That was the final straw for Severus. I think the loss of the Order of Merlin hit him hard. So he - er -  _accidentally_ let it slip that I'm a werewolf this morning at breakfast."

"Accidentally my arse," I murmur.

"You're not leaving just because of that, are you?" Harry exclaims.

"This time tomorrow, the owls will be arriving. And parents do not want a werewolf teaching their children. And after last night, I see their point. I could've bitten any of you... That must never happen again."

"You're the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had!" Harry exclaims.

I nod earnestly, and add, "Don't go! Please!"

Remus shakes his head and doesn't speak. Instead, he keeps on packing. While I try to think of a good argument for him to stay, Harry and Remus talk about Harry's Patronus last night, and Harry's father, James. He also gives Harry the Invisibility Cloak back, and gives us the Marauder's Map, claiming that Harry, Ron, Hermione and I will find good use of it. Honestly, he's probably right.

As I hug him goodbye, I whisper, "When will I see you again?"

"Soon," he promises.

"I'll miss you," I murmur.

"I'll miss you, too," he replies. "I'm so proud of you."

We pull away, and I beam at him, slightly embarrassed at that.

He pauses for a second, then adds, "Oh, and if that Fred Weasley ever breaks your heart, tell him that he'll be dealing with me."

"Remus!" I exclaim, blushing furiously, while Harry laughs. "How - how did you-"

"Just because I'm older and a teacher doesn't mean I can't see these things..." Remus says, chuckling at how embarrassed I am.

Before any more can be said, Professor Dumbledore enters the office. Harry shoves the map hastily into his pocket. Dumbledore doesn't seem too surprised to see us here. How does he do that?

"Your carriage is at the gate, Remus," Dumbledore says.

"Thank you, Headmaster," Remus replies.

Remus picks up his suitcase, and the empty Grindylow tank, and heads for the door.

"Well, goodbye, Hazel, Harry," he says, smiling. "I feel we'll meet again soon."

When Lupin leaves the office, I let out a sigh, and sink into one of the office chairs.

Harry and Dumbledore start discussing something, with me listening intently. Something about Professor Trelawney, and a prediction she made. It turns out it was about Pettigrew, but twenty-four hours ago, I would've thought it was about Sirius.

I'm certainly not the only one who's sad to see Remus go. Everyone except the Slytherins are upset, the way I see it.

"Wonder what they'll give us next year," Seamus says gloomy.

"Maybe a vampire!" Dean says hopefully, making me crack a half smile.

The next day, Hermione and I hand in our time-turners to Professor McGonagall, explaining to her that we don't think we can take another year like this one. It's much too stressful. I've dropped Arithmancy, and Hermione, Muggle Studies. McGonagall understands completely, and doesn't seem too surprised either.

One day, on my way to the common room, I hear footsteps, but when I turn around, nobody's there.

"Who's there?" I call out uncertainly, wand in hand.

And then out of nowhere, Fred and George jump out at me, making me scream, and jump and nearly pee myself.

"You guys! That was not funny!" I whine, stamping my foot, and glaring at them.

"Did you see your face?" George says.

"Of course it was!" Fred finishes.

"You guys are dicks, you realize that, right?" I say, pouting.

"Of course. But, anyway, I heard Buckbeak escaped," George says.

"Oh yeah, I heard that too," I say, beaming.

"Weird, because there was nothing that could save him..." George adds. "Isn't it, Fred?"

"Yeah, it really is quite strange..." Fred agrees, nodding and smirking at me.

"Definitely weird," I say, nodding, my smile widening.

"And I'm going to take a wild guess and way that it was partly your doing that he's escaped?"

I smile mysteriously and wink at them, and mysteriously reply, "Maybe," before turning to walk to the common room, Fred and George running to catch up, laughing.

Exam results come out a week later. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I passed every subject. I'm surprised I got through Arithmancy. I thought for sure I was going to fail... Percy got top grade N.E.W.T's, while Fred and George scrape up a handful of O.W.L's each.

Gryffindor wins the House Cup for the third year in a row, mostly because of our spectacular performance in the Quidditch Cup.

The next morning, as the Hogwarts Express pulls up into the station, Hermione announces that our timetables will be normal next year.

"Why? You guys did brilliantly on your exams," Ron says, shocked.

"We know... It's just been so stressful. That time-turner was driving us mad. There's no way I'm dealing with another year like this one," I reply.

"Agreed," Hermione says, nodding.

On the train ride home, Ron completely brightens my day, not only inviting us to come visit, but to invite us to the Quidditch World Cup. Holy shit, that'll be amazing!

Also, Harry gets a letter from Sirius midway through, from a small, very enthusiastic owl. The letter explains that the Firebolt was, in fact, from him, and that he's not going to say where he is, in case of the letter being intercepted. He's also giving the little owl to Ron, as he no longer has a pet because of him. How nice.

When we pull up to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, I say all my goodbyes. A part of me is sadder than ever to leave everyone, but a bigger part of me is okay, because I know I'll be seeing them soon enough. And I'll be seeing Hogwarts soon enough too. You can bet on that.


End file.
